Crossing The Freys
by JohnnyHarder
Summary: Roslin could play the game that Robb couldn't see. In the same way he could swing a sword or give an order, she would protect him from those closest to him. Robb could win the battles, his Queen would make sure the daggers never touched him. AU from end of GOT onward. Will have Arya, Bran and Jon chapters later, but for now very Robb/Roslin centric
1. Late Again

Robb Stark stared at the map of the Riverlands shrewdly. Beyond the Stark encampment lay the Twins, the ancestral seat of House Frey and the only means of crossing the Trident for several hundreds of leagues in each direction. Crossing the Trident would allow his army to assist the forces of the beleaguered River lords against the invading Lannister host. The Freys were bannermen to Robb's grandfather, Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun. Robb's mother Catelyn had gone to treat with Lord Frey to negotiate Robb's army crossing the Trident. She had warned before she left that the Freys had never failed to exact a toll on anyone wishing to cross. Now Robb could only wait patiently with his bannermen until her return. Ser Brynden Tully, Lord Hoster's brother, had joined Catelyn after her departure from the Vale of Arryn having previously served Catelyn's sister Lysa and her husband Lord Jon Arryn. He stood across the table from Robb, watching his grandnephew like a hawk.

"Lord Stark," the Blackfish began earnestly. "I speak for House Tully when I say that House Frey ought to be held responsible for ignoring Ser Edmure's call to arms. They are your lord grandfather's bannermen and for them to withhold their forces from battle is an act of treachery. Their swords would have been of much aid at the Golden Tooth and for them to bar our passage or exact a toll when justice calls them, I believe, is a crime that ought to be punished," Ser Brynden's impassioned voice cleaved through the arguing of the Northern lords. Robb looked up from the map to his granduncle with a face grave and set in stone.

"I know that my lord father would agree with you, Ser Brynden," the heir of Winterfell replied. His voice was calm and serious, his Lord voice. "Walder Frey must answer for his crimes. I propose we oust him as Lord of the Twins and install his heir, Ser Stevron, as Lord. We must act quickly," The assembled bannermen began loudly calling their Lord's attention to the different strategies against the Twins.

"One at a time, then!" Robb's bark quieted the roar and his lords were silent.

"I've been shooting down the arrows coming to and from the Twins since we arrived, Lord Stark," Theon Greyjoy spoke up, nonchalantly slicing an apple from a wooden chair. "Lord Frey has four thousand men at arms and over a thousand horses. If you try to take the Twins at this point not only will you be throwing away the lives of your men, you would forfeit Lady Catelyn's life as well. We must wait for her to return and hear the terms of Lord Frey, then get him isolated and his men surrounded in case they resist,"

The Greatjon threw back his head and barked in laughter, "Ha! Not bad, Greyjoy. Good of Lord Stark to keep you around," He gave a clap to Theon's shoulder. "We'll have the old weasel's ass off of that chair in no time. Then Lord Stevron can join us in kicking those Lannisters out of the Riverlands,"

Robb consulted the map, eying the Vale of Arryn closely. "My lady mother says that there is still no word of the valemen raising their banners for us or against us. Though I had hoped Lady Arryn would hold enough love for my mother to send help,"

"Jon Arryn's death was obviously the doings of the Lannisters," the Blackfish responded from across the table. "My niece is scared for the life of her child, Robert."

"A mother's worry for her child's life is one thing, Ser Brynden," Lady Dustin of Barrowton responded. "We should offer to foster him in Winterfell. It will put more leagues between him and the Lannisters. If Robert is going to be Lord of the Eyrie one day, he needs to spend more time with boys his age and less time at his mother's teat," Lady Barbrey Ryswell was the late Lord William Dustin's widow. Robb remembered his father telling him that Lord Dustin had been one of his companions that had been slain at the Tower of Joy during the final days of Robert's Rebellion.

"I am in agreement with Lady Ryswell," Lady Maege Mormont of Bear Island spoke up. "If I may be so bold, Lord Stark, a boy with such an unhealthy attachment to his mother at that age will not grow to be a strong lord that the Vale needs. Send him to Winterfell, let him grow with your brothers as friends and let their friendship grow to remind Lysa Arryn her duty to her family,"

Robb pursed his lips thoughtfully, "My lord father spoke of wanting to foster Robert in Winterfell before he went to the capital. Once we reach Riverrun, I will ask my lord grandfather to send a raven to the Eyrie ordering Lysa to mobilize her forces to our cause. She will not ignore her own father," _If she remembers any sense of loyalty to her own family any more, that is,_Robb thought privately.

"Talk of reaching Riverrun is premature until we get past this bridge," Lady Catelyn Stark moved the flap of the tent aside and the others made a space for her to stand in the circle around the map.

"Lord Frey was a good host, I hope?" Robb's faced had relaxed and his voice was barely strained from showing too much relief at her being unharmed. "Will he allow us to cross?"

Catelyn gave a sigh as she nodded. "Lord Frey has granted your crossing. His men are yours as well, save the five hundred he will leave behind to hold the Twins against those that would pursue you,"

Theon gave a smirk and looked to Robb. "I told you the old weasel would see reason,"

Robb had a smile of his own as he nodded. "And what does he want in return?"

Catelyn swallowed hard. "Two of his sons will be taken as wards in Winterfell. You will also take Lord Frey's son Olyvar as your personal squire. He will expect a knighthood, in time."

Robb nodded impatiently. "Yes, of course, that's fine. What else?"

Catelyn pressed onward. "Arya will also marry his son Elmar when they both come of age."

Robb smirked grimly. "She won't be happy about that," First they would have to get her and Sansa back, of course. Robb saw from his mother's expression that there was more. "….and?"

Catelyn's face grew calm and neutral, but her hesitation was not lost on Robb. "And when the fighting is over, you will marry one of his daughters. Whichever you prefer, though he has a number that he thinks will be suitable."

Robb's smirk was gone. His face had become a mask of determination and calm. "I see," His voice was tense. "Did you get a look at his daughters?"

Theon sniggered at Robb's side. "I did," Catelyn's reply was soft and in her eyes Robb could tell she was recalling the faces of the ladies of House Frey she had seen while treating with Lord Walder.

"And?" Anticipation had crept quietly into Robb's tone.

"One was…." Catelyn's sentence trailed off. Robb took in a deep breath. _This is a test,_ he thought. _Yet another test to see if I can handle the responsibilities of being Lord of Winterfell._ "Do you consent?"

"Can I refuse?" Robb asked, hoping for one last chance of an alternate route.

"Not if you wish to cross," Catelyn said firmly.

Robb's look was hard and stern. "Then I consent. Ser Brynden, you and my mother shall ride with me to Ser Stevron, he'll be waiting to hear our answer. When we meet him, I shall insist that he escort my mother across the Trident ahead of our army. Stay close to me while we cross. Lord Glover, before we cross you will have our men make the Frey men at arms feel as completely at ease as possible. Trade japes and jokes and act as friendly as possible. I don't want there any fighting, but if there is, it must be ended quickly. Lord Umber, when the wagons cross, fake an accident that holds up the entire column, make it look as real as possible, snap an axle, kill a horse, whatever is necessary."

The council disassembled and went about their duties, save for the Blackfish, Catelyn, Theon, and Robb. "What are you planning to do, Robb?" Theon asked.

"We need to get Lord Walder isolated and away from the eyes of his men if we are going to oust him as Lord of the Twins. For that, we will need to get him inside of the guest hall with the four of us, plus a dozen guards. Ser Stevron will be there as well. Mother, did you happen to see him when you spoke with Lord Walder?" Robb asked.

"I did, he defended my claim to his father that he had ignored the Tully call to arms," Catelyn recalled. "I think that he might be one who would honor such oaths before attempting to exact a price on us,"

"Good, then he may be amiable to us making him Lord of the Crossing," Ser Brynden nodded agreeably. "We haven't any time to waste, we must go meet with Ser Stevron,"

They exited the tent and mounted their horses, riding in the direction of the two mounted Frey men. Ser Stevron regarded them as they approached. A man of his early sixties or late fifties, the heir of the Twins was a stout man whose waist widened out noticeably astride his grey mare.

"I see you have reached a decision regarding my father's terms," His eyes rested on Robb's. "I take it then that you would be my brother," His voice was filled with hope.

"I consent to the Lord of the Crossing's terms, Ser Stevron. If you would give me the honor of escorting my lady mother across ahead of the army, I will meet you and your father to seal this pact in person," Robb's voice was firm and strong.

Ser Stevron nodded in agreement. "As was my intention, across the Trident and all the way to Riverrun to rescue your brother, my Lady," he inclined his head to Catelyn.

Catelyn nodded back. "The banner of the Twins will be a welcome sight to him, I assure you," The two rode off towards the great bridge of the mighty Trident.

"We'll need to act fast, my Lord," Ser Brynden reminded his nephew. "We must begin at once,"

"Yes," Robb gave the reins of his horse a jostle. "To me, boy!" Grey Wind barked happily and ran ahead of Robb's horse while Robb, Theon, and the Blackfish gave chase all the way to the vanguard of the army just behind Lord Umber and the wagons. Lord Karstark nodded understandingly to Robb as Ser Brynden went back to gather over a Tully hundred men at arms to join them.

The army's crossing was expedient until the loud _crash_ and the thundering roar of Lord Umber's curses into the air. "Stark!" Lord Frey sat in his liter in front of the northernmost tower of the Twins with four Frey guards, Lady Stark and Ser Stevron flanking him. "Your oaf of a Greatjon has gone and wrecked a wagon!" His voice was shrill and harsh. "This army will be here all night if you don't get it cleared up.

The army had come to a halt and Lord Frey's voice carried far. Robb's face was set to grim determination again.

"Lord Frey, is there somewhere we might speak privately? I would have this agreement between us sealed properly," Robb dismounted, followed by Ser Brynden and his soldiers who began sizing up the Frey guards.

"Yes, yes, boy, follow me into the main hall. You too, Stevie. And Stark, keep that mangy wolf of yours outside!" The guards picked up Lord Frey's litter and took him inside, followed by Ser Stevron , the Blackfish, Catelyn, and Robb.

"Get to the top of the wall now," Robb heard Ser Brynden mutter to a score of his archers. "Aim for the Freys only if you hear any commotion coming from inside the tower,"

A score of Northerners joined Robb as he made his way up the steps of the entrance hall behind Catelyn. With a raise of his hand, the Northerners raced ahead of Lord Frey and guarded the doors and blocked the windows.

"What is the meaning of this, Stark?" Lord Frey's voice echoed through his hall. "You commit treachery after agreeing to an alliance?" The Frey guards' hands went to their swords and Grey Wind came rushing through the door. Snarling and baring his teeth, the direwolf stood protectively in front of Robb, who gently scratched him behind the ear.

"Lord Walder, you have ignored the call of your lord bannerman, Hoster Tully, who lies on his death bed while his son has been taken captive fighting the invaders of his lands." Robb's voice had gone ice cold. "You have broken your oath to answer Lord Tully's call, barred your gates to our passage and treated with our enemies. I declare your lands and titles forfeit. You will be taken to Riverrun to answer for your crimes."

"I speak for House Tully in agreement with Lord Stark," Ser Brynden spoke up, his men having surrounded the Freys with the exception of Ser Stevron, who was still at Robb's side. "My brother lies near death, my nephew wears chains, and you sit comfortably in your litter and bark demands at those who would free them."

"I have had your word that you would be my son," Lord Frey spat to Robb. "And you would treat with those who would see my head removed?"

"My promise was to the Lord of the Twins. Ser Brynden, do you hold House Frey attained?" Robb turned to the Blackfish for an answer.

"House Tully recognizes Ser Stevron Frey as the Lord of the Twins," Ser Brynden said, crossing his arms. The guards' eyes turned to Ser Stevron for only an instant before they abandoned their places around Lord Walder for protective stances around their new Lord.

"Lord Stark," Lord Stevron said, drawing his sword and pointing it at his father. "I humbly thank you for bringing my father to justice. And I warned you that there would be consequences for picking sides against the Tullys, Father."

"Whoreson! You won't survive against Tywin Lannister!" Walder Frey spat.

"Take him away," Lord Stevron's guards picked up his father's litter, the old man spitting in rage and screeching curses at his son and Robb all the way out the door. "Lord Stark, I must apologize for my father's actions. The loyalty of House Frey is yours entirely, and I am proud to add my levies to your cause."

"My lady mother has spoken of your words when she treated with your father," Robb replied. "I am honored to accept the conditions of our agreement."

"You needn't worry about delaying our campaign for the sake of a wedding, Lord Stark," Lord Stevron sheathed his blade. "Your father, sisters, and uncle lay hostage with the Lannisters and Riverrun is under siege, we've no time to waste with such extravagance. Though while your army crosses, perhaps you would care to choose your betrothed? I can have the ladies of House Frey assembled in moments,"

Catelyn's elbow lightly touched Robb's. He looked over to see her nodding her head, urging him forward. "That is most considerate of you, Lord Stevron," Robb said. He swallowed hard and nodded his head in agreement. Lord Stevron signaled to a servant to carry out the order. "Find a way to let me know which one you thought was best," Robb muttered to Catelyn.

"Oh, you'll have no trouble figuring out that mystery," Catelyn whispered back with a touch of amusement.

Just as the Twins' new Lord had said, all seven of Walder Frey's trueborn daughters were gathered in the hall before Robb and his party. Within moments of Robb's eyes being on the girls, aged from the early thirties to just above toddlerhood, Robb knew which Catelyn would have chosen. Fifteen or sixteen in years, with brown hair reaching down to her waist, the Frey girl had very white skin, a pretty face, delicate nose, and big brown eyes. Robb approached her first and bowed.

"May I have the honor of knowing your name, my Lady?" Robb said politely.

The girl curtsied prettily. "I am Roslin Frey, my Lord. My lady mother was Bethany Roxby, my lord father's sixth wife."

"Lady Roslin has a talent for music, Lord Stark," Lord Frey cut in. "She has the finest singing voice of any of our ladies at court,"

"I would be delighted to hear you sing sometime, my lady," Robb said with a smile. Lady Roslin blushed lightly. "I fear we shall be in need of good songs in the coming dark times,"

Robb's eyes never left Roslin's. Her deep pools of brown nearly threatened to consume him. Knowing he had made his selection, he knelt before the maid. "Would you do me the honor of being my wife, Lady Roslin?"

The other girls cooed and giggled and whispered congratulations to Roslin, who smiled beautifully and accepted Robb's hand. "I would, my Lord," The girls erupted into applause, Catelyn gave a squeeze to Robb's shoulder, and Ser Brynden gave a hearty clap on his back.

"I will have the wedding planned at once, my Lord Stark," Lord Stevron placed his hand over Robb's and Roslin's. "And preparations will begin as soon as we break the Kingslayer's siege of Riverrun,"

**A/N I'm taking this fic slow, taking an over exaggerated amount of time fleshing the beginning details and Robb's growth as a leader. I'm writing this fic because through Robb's story his journey is almost marked by these horrible political missteps. One of them, I believe, was letting Walder Frey go unpunished for not responding to Edmure's call to fight against Jaime's invading Lannister army. In my mind, with Robb striving to be every bit the man of principle that Ned was, letting a bannerman ignore the call of his liege breaches a serious code of honor which the Starks hold close. A good bit of the concept and dialogue for some of the scenes of this chapter were taken from Rehblick's story Robb At The Crossing, which I have taken with his consent and approval. For now, most of the perspective will be from Robb, but later in the story Arya's and Sansa's part will become very important too. Please read and review, I'll post one chapter per every five reviews, that's not bad right?**


	2. Loyalty

Across the bridge, a cold northern breeze swept through the outdoor halls of the southern tower of the Twins and reddened Olyvar Frey's cheeks and nose as he walked to the main hall. The added chill from being in such proximity to the cold spray of the mighty Trident made the young man quicken his step. An alliance with Robb Stark and a new Lord of the Crossing! Old Walder will most likely not be attending the next Frey family reunion, he thought cheerfully. He had always respected his eldest half-brother, despite the age difference and the fact Lord Stevron had been lucky enough to be the firstborn while Olyvar had been Walder's eighteenth son. Stevron had taken the time to familiarize himself with each branch of their family and Olyvar had always admired Stevron's loyalty to his family, a trait that Olyvar had endeavored to emulate throughout his life. In his eighteen years Olyvar had few memories with his lord father, the Late Lord Walder. Olyvar was the fourth son to Lord Frey's sixth wife, Bethany Roxby. His eldest brother, Perwyn, had just come back from his time with Lord Stevron and the Northerners to ensure the safety of Catelyn Stark while she treated with Walder Frey.

Olyvar stepped past the household guards and entered the tower to see two of his elder brothers waiting for him. Perwyn, in his late twenties had a gaunt face with a big nose; stood straight with his hands folded behind his back beside Olyvar's other elder brother, Benfrey. Only younger than Perwyn by five years, Benfrey was already married with two children to their cousin Jyanna Frey.

"Brothers," Perwyn began. "It would seem that our new Lord Stevron has joined our house to Robb Stark's cause. Our sister, Roslin, has been chosen by the Lord of Winterfell to seal the alliance between our houses in the form of marriage. He has also agreed to take Olyvar as his squire and marry Elmar to his sister Arya,"

Olyvar's jaw would have dropped if years of living life as a Frey of the Twins hadn't long since taught him to keep a cool face. _Squire to the Lord of Winterfell!_ Olyvar thought hungrily. He had been officially recognized as a man grown for two years now, well overdue for a knighthood.

"How soon do we march on the Lannisters?" Benfrey asked eagerly. Of course Benfrey had been quick to prove himself, Olyvar noted shrewdly, ever since Perwyn had outlasted him at the Tourney of the Hand at King's Landing.

"When's the wedding?" Olyvar asked mildly. Since they had been children, Olyvar and Roslin had been as close as brother and sister could be. The fact that she would now leave the Twins forever brought a slight pain to Olyvar's chest.

"Lord Stevron is mobilizing our forces even as we speak, by dusk most of our strength shall march with Robb Stark south to wherever he commands," He regarded Olyvar passively. "The terms of the agreement call for the pact to be sealed once the fighting's over," He stepped closer to a window. Olyvar followed his gaze down the lower banks of the Trident where a laughing Roslin was walking with an auburn haired young man of a similar age to her. "Though I suspect that the Stark boy will want to give Roslin her wedding sooner than that,"

"They are getting along well, then?" Olyvar prodded.

Perwyn inclined his head out the window, gesturing to Robb as he gently helped Roslin off of the muddy shore and back up onto the grassy path that led back to the Twins. Olyvar gave a closer look and noticed the great direwolf Grey Wind a little further up shore, sniffing around in a great circle around the young pair. "They've done nothing but talk and walk since Lord Walder was held attained. Stark's army is almost fully across the Trident, however. The time to leave will be soon. Olyvar, Lord Stevron is on his way across the Trident from the North Tower. He will meet you in Water Tower and give you further instructions before we leave. Benfrey, kiss Jyanna and the children good bye and prepare your horse, I'll meet you in the stables," Perwyn paused to look both of his brothers in the eye, finally grasping both of them softly at the base of the neck and gently joining their foreheads together.

"We will all be facing danger in this war, but I promise you both that we will all see each other again," They broke apart and headed in separate directions. Olyvar exited the tower and climbed the stairs up to the walls._ I can't believe I'm actually going to squire for a Stark of Winterfell!_ When the ravens had arrived with news of the Kingslayer's invasion, the Roxby Freys had voiced in favor of answering Edmure Tully's call. Being children to Bethany Roxby, Lord Walder's sixth wife, gave them significantly less favor and influence at the Lord's court and they were usually looked over. Olyvar opened the door and was greeted again by the wind. _Robb Stark has brought the winter chill with him_, he thought. He had heard stories that the boy of fifteen kept a direwolf at his side, A great grey beast that had ripped the fingers off of one of Robb's bannermen when the fool had challenged his liege lord's leadership.

Olyvar made his way onto the wall of the great Crossing, walking past scores of Frey archers nervously eyeing the Northern host making their way across. Some of the archers he passed were trading japes with northmen who had climbed the walls to catch the view. It was quite a sight indeed, eighteen thousand men marching across the Twins with the mist from the mighty Trident catching the sunset light in an orange glow. When he reached the stairs down into Water Tower, the great tower in the middle of the bridge, he took the steps two at a time to get to the seat of House Frey faster. When he opened the doors he found Lord Stevron sitting in the chair that Lord Walder had occupied only mere hours before. Remembering his courtesy, Olyvar bowed respectfully and stepped forward. "You sent for me, my Lord?"

The seat of the Lord of the Crossing was a large chair of black oak with the back carved into the shape of two towers joined by an arched bridge. Lord Stevron rubbed his thumb slowly into the oak as if savoring the feel of his seat. "Young Olyvar as I'm sure that you have undoubtedly already heard our family has joined Robb Stark's cause. You will serve as his squire and Roslin will join him in marriage. I'm leaving my son, Ryman, as my heir with five hundred men to hold the Twins. The rest of us are leaving at once to march on either Lord Tywin or the Kingslayer. I expect you to serve Stark faithfully in the coming campaign,"

Olyvar inclined his head respectfully, allowing himself a small smile. This would be his first time marching in a host to war, every young man's dream of proving themselves would soon be his reality. "Of course, my Lord. Will Roslin join us or stay here?"

Lord Stevron gave a small smile, looking more grandfatherly and reminding Olyvar again of the vast age difference between the two brothers. "Though it has only been mere hours since they met, it would seem that in the time that the northern force has taken to march across the bridge, Stark and Roslin have become quite inseparable. I have no doubt that your sister will want to accompany us, though she will of course remain at a safe distance during the fighting. That's also what I want to talk to you about, Olyvar. Our lord father arranged for you to be squire to the heir to Winterfell to bring prestige to our family. For you, this is an excellent opportunity for you to earn the respect and trust of both Robb Stark and his bannermen. There are those in our family that would say our marriage to the Lannisters should come before Roslin's to the Starks and that our loyalty should be to lions. Either way, our first and foremost loyalty should have been to Ser Edmure when he called Lord Tully's banners. His capture will be blamed on the consequences of our absence in the battlefield. We must prove our loyalty to Robb's cause to bring honor to House Frey. We must be watchful for traitors in our ranks, I don't have to tell you that our family's numbers have not bred many cooperative feelings,"

"Of course, my Lord," Olyvar shook his head agreeably. Stevron's words were firm and sincere, already a leader that Olyvar could follow faithfully. "I will serve in any way that you ask,"

"The only task I give you is that you remain a loyal squire to Robb Stark and learn as much as you possibly can from him," Lord Stevron's eyes softened. "You will be around him more than any Frey in his host. Your loyalty to him will reflect on the family. I know you will make us all proud, Olyvar. For this honor to be granted to a Frey is a rare thing. Lord Walder gave our name a reputation to be spat on. Our contribution to the Stark's cause will change that. I only hope that the boy knows what he's doing," Lord Stevron gave a sigh and leaned back in his chair. "That will be all Olyvar. Gather your things and your horse and find Stark, your sister and him haven't stopped talking since he proposed. I'd certainly say that they're getting along well,"

_So would_ I, Olyvar thought happily as he bowed again and exited the room.

* * *

_Robb could feel the warm blood gush into his mouth as his jaw squeezed around the fox's throat and his teeth met soft meet. His kill squirmed for only a few more moments before going still as more of his blood soaked into the mud of the riverbank. Howling in loudly and slowly victory, Robb then set about enjoying the meatier parts of the fox's body, namely the tender hind legs, the soft belly and entrails, and at last to the tough chewy meat of the shoulders. Thousands of scents and sounds cascaded through the wolf's nose and ears as Robb cracked the bones for the marrow. One of the pack was close, he realized as a passing breeze pushed a familiar aroma to him. A short distance to be sure, perhaps she was stalking outside of one of the nearby villages, but there was no denying that the wolf could sense one of its littermates within a great many leagues. Robb felt legs strong with sinewy muscle bound through the forest with the chilly morning air rushing against the fur on his face._

_He hadn't been running for an hour before the scent had become so thick that it seemed the air was dripping in it. Robb sniffed at a pile of droppings near a large elm. Definitely not his littermate, he decided, more likely his smaller cousins. It seemed at least several dozen wolves had been following his littermate. He was about to pad off and follow the trail of the scent when a the faintest of snap from the breaking of a small twig gave him reason to pause. Heads rose from the tall grass and brush and surrounding the lone direwolf was the large pack that he had undoubtedly just been tracing._

_A deep growl rumbled from the bottom of his throat as Robb showed teeth to the ones right in front of him. The wolves didn't move from their encirclement, only stared silently at their quarry. From the silence, a long sorrowful howl broke the dawn sky and Robb's ears remembered._

_The pack cleared a way for their leader, the large grey she-wolf padded forward with her head high and her tail up. Robb's growl ceased as his littermate licked him across the face._

Robb woke from the dream wiping his face. He turned his hand to reveal it was dry. _Only a dream_, He thought sleepily. _Though it felt so real. I could have sworn that was Nymeria at the end._ He didn't feel the usual warmth across his legs that would usually have indicated Grey Wind had guarded Robb when he slept, his tent empty. A knock at his tent flap came, "Please, enter," Robb quickly slipped into his trousers as his mother walked into his tent.

"Robb," her voice was cross but her face was calm. "I had hoped to speak to you in private," She took a chair and sat beside his bed.

Slipping on a tunic, Robb looked at his mother in the eye. "Of course, mother. What's the matter?"

Catelyn took a sigh. "Walder Frey is _not_ a man to trifle with, much less trick. I don't appreciate how you used my parley with him as a trick," her words carried an anger that Robb had seldom heard.

Robb frowned. "Uncle Edmure called _all_ of the banners of the Riverlands. Walder Frey's troops could have changed the tide of his battle against the Kingslayer. I could not allow his crime to go unpunished,"

"I gave my _word, Robb,"_ Her tone had gone from angry to almost... what? Indignant? Betrayed? "_My word_ that he would be safe joining our cause. If anything, his arrangement was generous to us since he let you _choose_ your bride. And you return his generosity with treachery,"

"_Generosity?_" Robb almost spat. "Your brother is in chains because Walder Frey couldn't decide who he owed loyalty to. I will not be cowed by Walder Frey and I will _certainly_ not allow a man like that to dictate terms to me. If my bannermen saw that Walder Frey could do that, it would only be a matter of time before they challenged my position,"

"For years, your grandfathers used me as a pawn in their game," Catelyn's voice had gone cold. "I will _not_ let my eldest child use me in his,"

The air was still between them. "You want to leave," Robb said simply.

"I've been away from Winterfell a long time," Catelyn suddenly, only for a moment, gave up her icy stare. "I haven't seen Bran or Rickon in months and if you're going to deceive any treaty I make in your name, then I refuse to act as your emissary any longer,"

Robb put his face in his hands. This wasn't happening. "Mother," he began, but stopped short. He looked into her eyes. He _had_ hurt her, truly. "You know Father would have done the same thing. Would things have been better for us, this army, or for Father and the girls in King's Landing if I had allowed Walder to continue his reign? A man who abandoned his liege lord so he could hear a better offer from the Lannisters? I don't want a man like that watching our backs and you shouldn't either."

He went to the map of the Riverlands. "Right now, I've sent Lord Roose with the foot and some of the horse has gone south along the eastern bank of the Trident to stall Lord Tywin at the Green Fork," he took one direwolf wolf piece and placed it so, in front of the lion's piece symbolizing Tywin's host.

She stood by his side, looking at the map. "This will give you time to lift the siege of Riverrun?" She moved a second direwolf piece across the map, knocking over a second lion's piece placed over the castle.

Robb frowned. Put the lion's piece back where it was and grabbed the direwolf piece, "Not exactly," he moved his army's piece and placed at Tywin's flank.

Catelyn looked shocked. "You're going to engage Tywin Lannister? Robb, that's what he's _expecting_!"

"Lord Tywin is expecting me to march with all my strength to the Green fork and fight his troops face to face. He thinks I'll want to prove myself in battle by taking the mighty Tywin Lannister head on. A flanking maneuver isn't what he'll be expecting. Once we take his host out of the game-" he knocked Tywin's piece over on its side. "we'll march on Riverrun and free Unlce Edmure,"

Catelyn's frown deepened. "If you're captured in this battle, our war is lost. I don't have to remind you what Tywin Lannister did to the Reynes, the Tarbecks, or the Targaryen children. You're a man grown now, Robb. If this is the path you wish to take, I won't stop you. But I won't stay and watch while you play dice with our family's lives. I ride for Winterfell at first light tomorrow," She stormed out of his tent without another word.

And then the ravens from King's Landing came.

Sansa's handwriting had always been the best of the Stark children. But the words carrying their father's execution on charges of treason.

Ned Stark. Lord of Winterfell. Warden of the North. Hand of the King. Traitor.

The scroll crinkled and crumpled in Robb's clenched fist after he had read the note. Sansa's words of how their father had claimed Jofferey was a product of incest between the Queen and the Kingslayer, but took back the lie with his last words before the King's Justice removed his head at the Sept of Baelor with Ice. Cut down by the blade of his own House. Sansa's writing. But more of the Queen's words. He had sent Olyvar away after he threw Sansa's letter into the fire and angrily and marched. Away away away, running to a small grove outside of the camp. Hot tears were forced back as the troops he had led in to battle rose in respect as he passed by them. Taking out his sword, he decided to find a tree as big as his anger and imagine that standing before him was the bastard Jofferey Waters.

It felt like days that he had been cutting away with his sword. He paid no mind to the burning in his arm and shoulder until finally a voice brought him back.

"_Robb," _he turned to see his mother and Roslin standing before him. His mother looked as if she had been trying get his attention for several moments and Roslin's face looked... concerned? Worried? "You've ruined your sword," Catelyn's words had seemed so far away at but, half sobbing half panting, he dropped his sword nonetheless. His mother opened her arms and he walked into her embrace warmly. "My poor boy,"

"I'll kill them all," Robb sobbed. He couldn't look at Roslin, not now.

"My boy," She soothingly patted the back of his head. "They have your sisters. We have to get the girls back,"

"And then we will kill them all," Roslin's voice had a surprising coldness to it. _Perhaps she won't be as uncomfortable in Winterfell as I thought,_ Robb began breathing deeply and calming himself as Roslin's hand squeezed his shoulder.

"You have a battle to win," Catelyn said, slowly taking the dull sword out of his grasp. "You'll need a new sword if you hope to be any use on the field," Her voice carried a chiding amusement, their spat earlier that morning having been forgotten.

"Come away, my Lord," Roslin spoke up. "Your bannermen are preparing for war. They _need_ to see you are ready to fight,"

"I would say that I am quite ready," Robb dried his eyes and made his voice steady itself. "Quite ready indeed,"

The trio made its way back to the camp and Robb made his way to the armory, finding a new longsword and sheathing it in his scabbard. With Catelyn excusing herslef, Robb and Roslin made their way to the eastern bank and sought out Lord Bolton.

They found him saddling his horse. Seeing them approach, he stopped immediately and bowed. "My Lord," his voice was just above a whisper and Robb found himself almost leaning in to make sure he heard him.

"Are the men ready, Lord Bolton?" Robb asked.

"We've packed enough food for a week's journey and I've been told the men are spoiling for a shot against Lord Tywin," Cold and chilled, Roose's voice contained no excitement or sign of warmth of his own. The ghost of a small smile graced his lips. "You're looking lovely this morning, Lady Frey,"

Roslin curtsied convincingly enough to where Robb could barely tell she had taken the compliment at face value. "Thank you, Lord Bolton. I see you've packed quite the abundance of knives,"

It was true, his horse's saddle had no less than a dozen knives and daggers sheathed. "Never hurts to have extras, and my page needed something to do all last night," He gestured to a boy of nine saddling his own horse not far away. The boy's face gave Robb reason to squint.

"Elmar," Roslin breathed calmly to Robb's ear. "Arya's betrothed, once we get her back,"

"Boy knows his way around a wetstone," Roose said. "We'll make a proper squire out of him yet,"

"You've already been made aware countless times of my father's laws concerning flaying, Lord Bolton," Robb said sternly.

"Of course, my Lord," Roose said. "I simply pack these in case the fighting gets extremely close and I lose my sword,"

"Are you expecting to be a great distance away from the blood, Lord Bolton?" Roslin spoke in the voice that Robb had learned was her getting a feel for someone.

Roose's smile grew, Robb noted, like a poisonous flower blossoming after the chill of the morning dew had passed. "Quite the contrary, my Lady," He mounted his horse, which neighed in fright. "We'll be right in the thick of it,"

"Light fires along the bank of the Trident just before you begin you meet the Lannister host," Robb said. "That'll be the signal for us to begin our attack,"

"Of course, Lord Stark," Roose inclined his head and made his way to the barracks to order his men to begin their march.

"You'd best get yourself ready as well, my Lord," Roslin squeezed Robb's hand tightly. "Lord Bolton and his men may make the Green Fork by sundown,"

"Yes, yes of course," Robb said. "Have you seen Grey Wind this morning? He wasn't in bed when I woke up."

Roslin shrugged. "No, he must have gone hunting. I'm sure he's just out hunting," Roslin could see that Robb's mind was elsewhere. "Is something wrong, my Lord?"

Robb shook his head. "Only a strange dream,"

"A dream?" Roslin's voice sounded playfully amused. "What did you dream of?"

"I dreamed I was seeing the world through Grey Wind's eyes. I, er, _we_ hunted for awhile and then a pack of wolves found us. The leader was a big she-wolf. When I looked into her eyes I saw something..." His sentence trailed off. He shook his head.

"What?" Roslin gently inquired.

"Familiar." They walked in silence for awhile, back to Robb's tent where Robb began putting his armor on over his tunic.

"Do you resent me for what happened to your father?" Robb finally asked as he slapped on his greaves.

Roslin was silent for a moment. "My lord father treated his family as livestock, particularly the women," She hung her head only for a moment, contemplating her words carefully. "I am grateful to be out of the Twins and away from him,"

"He made a vow to House Tully, Roslin," Robb began earnestly. "My lord father taught me it was death to break your vow to your liege lord,"

She sighed. "I know, Robb. My father had twenty two trueborn sons and seven daughters. And his sons have sons and there sons have sons and on and on. There are many factions within House Frey. Growing up in that bridge certainly keeps you on your toes,"

Robb frowned. "Will these factions turn against me?"

Roslin looked up. "Some will conspire against you, yes. Lord Stevron will have quite the task of keeping them in check,"

"Which Freys should I be concerned about?" Robb had finished his armor and finally was taking a closer look at his new sword.

"You're aware that Lord Stevron's younger brother, Emmon, is married to Tywin Lannister's sister, aren't you? Either way, Emmon's line cannot be trusted. Olyvar has told me that he's stopped no less than half a dozen messages from Tywin to Walder's second son. He is one of your biggest adversaries in House Frey," Roslin stood and handed Robb a shield.

"Anyone else?" Robb accepted the shield.

"Lothar Frey, my father's steward at the Twins. He's a sneaky man, I wouldn't trust him. Hosteen Frey's mother was a Crakehall, a house sworn to the Lannisters, yet he's still certainly loyal and absolutely the best fighter in our House. Make him your friend, for he's not the brightest man, and he'll follow you anywhere. Do it fast, though, before someone else makes a friend of him first," Roslin said.

"My Lady... these are your kinsmen," Robb began. "If I've put you in a position of discomfort-"

"Then it'll have been worth it to keep you alive," Roslin cut in. "There are many Freys, my Lord. There certainly shan't be any harm should a few go missing. Especially if they would sell you to the Lannisters," she closed the distance between them and put her hand on his cheek. "You have no idea, do you, Robb? Everyday I lived at that bridge I wanted throw myself into the Trident. Olyvar was my only friend, Perwyn and Benfrey were always too busy. You _saved_ me, that day you chose me to be your bride and I will protect you from them like I know you'll protect me from everyone else. You can fight the Lannister with sword, mace, and lance. My weapons will be words, my shield will be courtesy, and I will use all of them to make sure you don't end up a corpse like other proud lords that have defied the Lannisters,"

Their lips met in a soft kiss, then Robb mounted his horse. Squeezing her hand one more time, Robb galloped off to meet Lord Karstark with the Northern horse, and began there march.

**Chapter two is up! I think the five review per one chapter is a pretty fair price. Any criticism or improvements that you, the reader, think could be made would be more than welcome. I'd definitely put changes into existing chapters for the sake of continuity, grammar, or story-telling effectiveness. Also if anyone knows of a good beta, that would also be appreciated. It killed me that we didn't even really get any mention of Robb having wolf dreams the way we got Arya, Bran, and Jon's, I'd appreciate any ideas, thoughts, concerns, or criticisms. The harsher the better, bring it on! I hope that you all enjoy this chapter and again, please review!**


	3. Green Fork

Robb's horse dipped its head to drink from the Trident. Behind him he could hear thousands of horses neighing and their hooves beating thunderously as the greater part of his cavalry galloped parralel to the Trident. The light from the mid day sun shimmered and danced off of the ripples of the mighty river, Olyvar pulled his own mare beside his. "Any sign from Lord Bolton, my Lord?" his squire asked. Robb could hear the eagerness in his voice. The young Frey had become a close and constant companion since the Stark host had taken its leave of the Twins.

"The Leech Lord must be getting close to the Green Fork by now," Theon supplied from Robb's other side. "Then again, they are marching on foot. It wouldn't be a surprise if we beat them to the Lannister host,"

"We've slowed down enough for him to get there first," Robb's voice was calm and assured, keeping his eyes peeled on downstream on the opposite bank, searching for any sign of the signal fires. He had made sure all of the lords of his war council had been absolutely clear of the plan. "His signals should be here any time," Only Robb's personal guard stayed with the Lord of Winterfell, boys and young men of an age with Robb, all of them heirs or second sons to his Northern bannermen. Looking among the rough thirty of them, he was able to put several of the faces to their sigils. The black bull-moose on an orange field of House Hornwood painted on Daryn Hornwood's shield; the three pine trees of House Tallhart worn by cousins Benfred and Brandon; Ser Wendel Manderly's mermaid of White Harbor; Donnel's two bronze keys of House Locke; the six green thistles on a yellow field of House Norrey worn by Owen Norrey; the white sunburst of Karstark; the chained giant of House Umber; and the black battle axe of Cerwyn. "We'll be ready," Robb gripped his reigns tighter, trying not to reflect that this would be his first battle.

"Lord Tywin won't know what hit him, my Lord," Benfred Tallhart's eagerness eclipsed even Olyvar's, Robb noted. "I can't wait for a chance at a shot at some lions!" Several voices joined loudly in agreement. Robb frowned, wondering for not the first time if giving Ser Helman Tallhart leave to bring his heir and his nephew down from Torrhen's Square had wise, both had itched for battle and had crowed in victory at their appointment to Robb's personal guard. Benfred had often spent time with Robb and Theon whenever the Tallharts would visit Lord Eddard in Winterfell.

"Well you'll get your taste today, all of us will," Robb's voice cut over the guffawing. "We'll catch the Lannisters in their left flank, either crushing them or pushing them back south along the river,"

"I hear Ser Gregor Clegane has rejoined Lord Tywin's host," Daryn Hornwood voiced. "Have our scouts been able to spot him?"

"They couldn't get close enough to see which side the Mountain was on, no," Olyvar replied shortly. "He won't be the only knight in the Lannister host worth worrying about. You can all just be thankful we'll have the element of surprise,"

"It won't be long now," Ser Wendel followed Robb's gaze warily across the river. "We're actually going up against Tywin Lannister..." Robb could hear the apprehension in the normally boisterous and loud young man.

Robb thought about his dream from the other night and turned to Theon, "Has there been any sign of Grey Wind?" he asked quietly. Theon shook his head and Robb silently wished the great direwolf was at his side. This had been the longest stretch of time they had been apart and he knew that the beast would be a fearsome sight in battle.

"I hope Harrion will be alright," Torrhen Karstark quietly murmured to his elder brother, Eddard. Rickard Karstark's heir had been sent with the infantry under Lord Bolton.

"Father putting him in charge of our spears is a great honor, you'll have nothing but pride for him, brother. Not fear," Eddard's own voice faltered barely, but his face was set in grim determination. Robb had placed Lord Karstark in charge of the reserves, ordering him to withhold his forces until either Robb gave the word or the need was desperate. "We'll meet him in the field and compare kills,"

Perwyn Frey placed a hand firmly on Olyvar's shoulder. No, Robb thought. _Many brothers march to war today, either together side by side or separated by the river. _Robb shook his head free of the cobwebs. _No, we're definitely ready._ I'm_ definitely ready._

_"My Lord Stark!_!" Smalljon Umber cried. "_Look! Across the Trident!" _

Robb saw them instantly. The plumes of thick grey smoke cut across the pale blue sky like large daggers. Eight in a row, perhaps a hundred paces apart. "Lord Bolton is beginning his attack!" Robb pulled his horse beside the convoy and lightly tapped it with his spurs into a gallop. "Double time, men! The lions have kindly offered us there backside!"

The men cheered and roared and followed their liege in quickening the pace. Olyvar handed Robb his lance and shield and followed him to Robb's favored position at the front of the army. Minutes passed and suddenly Robb could finally see the ford, as well as the golden lion on the red field of Lannister. Thirty thousand men rushing toward Roose Bolton's flayed man. "Wedge formations!" Robb roared over the thunderous beating of hooves on ground. Behind him he heard his bannermen echoing the command. The Northern cavalry then formed up into roughly seven or eight separate wedges, with Robb's at the center. Faster and faster they rode, the Lannister left getting closer and closer by the moment. "Sound the horn!" Olyvar blew into the battle horn and it gave a long low call. They were close enough now for Robb to see the looks of terror and even make out small tears in despair as the Northern cavalry smashed into the army with roars, howls, and battlecries of "Winterfell!", "The Twins!" and "Justice!". Robb dipped his lance and skewered one unlucky fellow through the chest.

Dropping the now unwieldy spear, Robb drew his longsword and began hacking away at all before him. His mare took two swords to its chest and went down, bringing Robb down with it. His personal guard immediately surrounded him, with Smalljon Umber breaking the skull of one man open with his mace. While Robb's skill had always been with the lance, his practice with Jon Snow with the sword had served him well. _If only you were here now, brother,_ Robb shook the melancholy away from him as a Lannister spearman charged toward him, a familiar wickedness in his eyes that Robb had seen in the wildlings that had held Bran hostage a fortnight ago.

The man thrust his spear towards Robb's breastplate but it was parried by Robb's sword and with another swing Robb had taken his head off. Robb had never experienced anything like it, there was no time to worry, no time to think about the rest of the cavalry, not when the only thing keeping him alive was his armor, sword, and personal guard. Beside him, a forcefully dismounted Olyvar had joined Robb on foot and was locked in combat with a footsoldier. Finally getting his sword into a crack in his armor just beneath the armpit, Olyvar wiped the grime and gore off of his helm. "Well done, Olyvar!" Robb called. Olyvar looked up and smiled, but it instantly faded away.

"My Lord, behind you!" Robb could almost, _almost,_ feel the earth tremble as heavy footsteps thudded ever closer toward him.

_"STARK!"_ A thunderous voice boomed over the chaos and Robb turned around. Before him stood a giant of a man, standing well over seven feet tall. Black, heavy, plate armor adorned him, his helm having only a thin slit atop which stood a fist punching the sky. In one hand he had a six foot long greatsword, impossible for any man to wield and still hold a shield, this particular one bearing the three dogs on a yellow field of House Clegane. "_YOU'RE MINE, BOY_!" The Mountain reared back his greatsword with a roar and Robb barely had time to raise his shield-

_CLAAANNNGGG_

The Mountain's sword drove through the iron round shield as if it had been made of parchment, cleaving it in half. Sparks flew from the hot metal and he tossed the shield away and rolled to his right, missing another swing that would have cut him at the waist.. Feeling his face, he realized the tip of the sword had cut the guard off entirely, twisting and ripping the metal and leaving jagged and sharp edges. The blade had just barely missed Robb's forearm, but was slowed enough to just cleave open his helmet and not the skull. He felt the skin going over his left eye rip open into a gash that dripped blood into his eye. The Mountain gave charge and Robb rolled again, this time to the left and gave a hack towards Ser Gregor's shoulder. A splash of scarlet let Robb know that he had found a chink in the monster's armor.

"_STAND STILL AND DIE,_ _BOY_!" The Mountain charged forward, cutting Robb's longsword in half when he raised it to parry and knocking him to his back.

The Mountain raised his sword and Robb closed his eyes and fleetingly thought of Roslin, wishing fervently that he could have lived to marry her in the godswood and raise their children in Winterfell. Somewhere, miles away, he heard a howling cry of fury and the sword came down but stuck in the groundinches beside his face. Robb looked up to see the Greatjon tackling the Mountain, taking the hulking figure armor and all to the ground and grappling with him.

"He doesn't like to be called that," Lord Umber murderously bellowed into his foe's ear. Peeling off the Mountain's helm, the Greatjon went for the Mountain's eye with his thumb. Gregor jerked his head back, grunting in agony and wiping the blood from his face. Raising a clenched fist he brought the gauntlet into Lord Umber's nose, crushing the cartilage beneath. Gripping an ear, Ser Gregor pulled the Greatjon towards his broadword. Robb rose to his feet, feeling around for his sword. He found the tip of a spear broken off from its shaft and charged the Mountain. Robb dropped his shoulder into Gregor's side, forcing the ear of Greatjon to be ripped off, and shoved the spear's tip into the soft spot behind the chin. Gregor's mouth opened in shock, his throat conjuring some gurgling, choking sound.

"Not so easy when the boy is old enough to fight back, wouldn't you say?" Robb picked up a dropped double headed axe from the ground and took the Mountain's head from his body. The Greatjon gave Robb a clap on the back that nearly knocked him over and then let loose a victorious roar, raising Robb's hand while his guard echoed the call.

"We've still a battle to win, form up!" Robb bellowed, hefting a shield as his men formed a wide circle around him.

"The Imp!" A voice to Robb's right called, barely audible over the din. "_We've captured the Imp!" _

_"_Pull him back, get him out of here!" Robb called back. Two Hornwood men came each holding an arm as a disarmed Tyrion Lannister struggled to be free. "Stop struggling, Lord Tyrion, and you have my word that you will _not_ be harmed,"

Tyrion eyed Robb and resentfully ceased, allowing himself to be led away from the battle. Robb allowed himself a brief smile before ending the life of a Crakehall spearmen, _He must enjoy captivity. His father is cruel for putting him in the front lines,_ Robb thought to himself. It was impossible for Robb to be able to tell how the rest of the battle was going, but here with is personal guard it was a bloodbath. The group of young men cut through foe after foe, each few friend lost taking down half a dozen or more before falling. Finally, after what seemed like hours, a horn blew.

"They're sending in their reserves!" Olyvar shouted.

"Well, they've been sitting in the back so long," The Smalljon howled. "Lets give them a good welcome!" Robb signaled his own reserves and another rush of cavalry met the Lannister reserves in the flank.

"Onward!" Robb roared, blood rushing in his ears. Hours more, they fought until Robb's axe had gone dull and Olyvar had to fetch him another sword and then until that had gone dull and he had to send Olyvar back for yet another. The mid day sun sank into the west and soon the sky began to darken and redden until finally, another horn sounded.

"They're retreating! The Lannisters are retreating!" Theon proclaimed, wiping gore and blood from his sword.

"_Victory!" _Robb howled, raising his sword. "_WE HAVE VICTORY__!_"

Every man cheered and screamed in celebration. The men they had just been fighting turned and ran back, chased by their Northern foes on their heels.

Robb sheathed his sword finally and bid Olyvar to find a horse for him. The youth came moments later with a grey pony, saddled and with flecks of blood painted on its mane as Roose Bolton's foot marched across the ford to meet their liege lord. Robb mounted her and rode to meet them. Looking into their eyes, he could tell he had the same look upon his own face. First battle. The stench would never be washed from his hands or their's but it was necessary. Searching for Roose Bolton, he finally found the Lord of the Dreadfort towards the rear of the column.

"A decisive victory, my Lord," Roose bowed in salute. "I've heard that you're men captured the Imp. It seems freedom his freedom was destined to be short lived,"

"My Lord!" Eddard Karstark galloped up to meet them. "Word from my lord father. They've captured Tywin Lannister!"

* * *

Robb and his personal guard rode at full gallop out of the thickets. The trees clawing across the sky threateningly. Robb reflected back to the painted face of the weirwood tree back at Winterfell, of his father cleaning Ice beside the dark pool of water. _I've sent men to their graves today,_ he thought somberly. Torrhen Karstark, Jared and Benfrey Frey among so many others. Olyvar had found his brother's body after following Robb to Roose Bolton's host with the Leech Lord presenting the body wrapped in furs. Olyvar's grief had been indescribable, the poor lad howling in pain and holding his brother's head to his chest.

Finally, he saw Roslin, his mother and Rodrik Cassel atop a hill with the rest of his bannermen. Robb dismounted as the two Lannisters were brought to their knees before him. Answering a questioning look from his mother, Robb shrugged. "It was quite a battle," He said simply. His bannermen roared in laughter and Lord Tywin's eyes went to the ground for only a moment. "I wasn't expecting the war to be over _quite_ so quickly, but I'm happy that we've managed to secure a hostage from this mess," Robb grinned wolfishly.

"Careful, boy," Tywin growled. "My son still has an army at his back,"

"And he has his father in my front," Robb shot back. "as well has his brother. Lord Tyrion, I'm sure you remember my mother, Lady Catelyn?"

Catelyn glared at Tyrion, who barely inclined his head. "Wonderful to see you again, my Lady. Wish the circumstances of our meetings could improve, it seems I appear before two times out of three in chains,"

"Given the circumstances, Lord Tyrion, I must say I would have it no other way," Catelyn replied coldly.

"I'm sure your brother feels the same way, my Lady," Tywin said, itching the skin beneath his manacles. "You'll be able to ask him, when my son sends you his head for what you've done here,"

"Well, then it'll be quite a sight, us trading heads back and forth between camps," Robb shot back icily. "Though I suppose once we've finished with the Kingslayer, his bastard king won't go long for wanting his father,"

"Robert never held much love for poor Joff," Tyrion said. "I don't think he misses him all too much with that crown on his head,"

"I don't think he was talking about poor King Robert," Roslin said.

"Ahh, your Frey betrothed," Tywin said. "Don't look now, but it's becoming quite the family reunion,"

"Emmon Frey sends his regards, my dear," Tyrion grinned. "I'm quite certain that when it comes for all you traitors to bend the knee, it will be dear Uncle Emmon who'll be ready to kick the back of your's,"

"And Lord Stevron sends his," Olyvar kept his blade pointed to Tywin's throat. "You'll pardon if I go without calling that traitor 'brother', however,"

"Lord _Stevron_, did you say?" Tyrion turned to the boy. "Well, gods be good, has old Walder finally made his voyage? Or is he lurking up at the Wall?" Hi e turned to face Robb again. "That _is_ what I'd guess a Stark to do with a man like Walder Frey,"

"You'll be able to ask him yourself," Robb said icily. "Take them to the prisoners' pins, make sure they are placed separately,"

Olyvar beckoned the Lannisters to get up and he and the Smalljon took them away as the assembled men roared in victory.

"_That _is enough!" Robb's voiced boomed across the small clearing and silence greeted him instantly. "We have taken two valuable hostages, yes. But we have absolutely no guarantee that the war will be over tomorrow or next week or years from now. This was our first battle and it was a victory, yes. But this war is far from over,"

The air became somber and quiet and Robb clasped Roslin's hand and took his leave. "Mother," He acknowledged, passing her by. There was no missing the look of sadness that came from her face as he spared barely a glance at her.

"My Lord, are things well between you and Lady Catelyn?" Roslin meant no harm in asking, but Robb shook his head. "She was most kind to me during our stay, she spoke of leaving for Winterfell with Ser Rodrik. Is she truly leaving?"

"My lady mother has always kept her word," Robb said grimly. He sighed. "I want no secrets between us, my Lady, not if we are to be wed. The truth is that she felt betrayed when I removed your lord father from his seat. She feels that her word was worth more than a ruse to capture him and hold him answerable to his crimes,"

Roslin sighed. "She is an honest woman and I admire her integrity. I wish only that my lord father and shared that trait, else I would feel sorry for him,"

"You disagree with her?"

"I think we are in a game where the other players may sink to lower levels than your move against my lord father. You're a man of honor, Robb, but honor alone won't see you to the end of this war without a knife in your back. When we march victorious back to Winterfell victorious against the Iron Throne with her daughters beside us, I'm sure she will forgive you," Roslin smiled and touched his scar. "Though not if you continue antics such as taking on Gregor Clegane single-handedly. In the future, perhaps you should give one of your lords bannermen the vanguard,"

Robb smiled now as well, gripping her hand tighter, "It was our first battle, my Lady. _My_ first battle. I had to show these men that I'm not scared to lead from the front,"

"At least until we are married and have a son, then, my Lord," She insisted. "And even after, I would prefer not to worry for you,"

Robb brought her hand to his lips, "As you wish, my Lady. Have you received any word from Riverrun?"

She frowned. "They didn't tell you on your way back from the field?"

Robb shook his head. "The Kingslayer's host is being met with some... _complications_,"

Robb's jaw dropped. "What kind of complications?"

"It would appear that a large pack of wolves, the largest seen in the Riverlands in over three hundred years, has been marauding the Lannister encampment. Such is size and ferocity of the pack that our scouts report that the Kingslayer's host is losing at least two dozen men a day. It is said that they were led by two great direwolves, a male and a female," Roslin raised her eyebrows expectantly.

Robb stopped walking, "Grey Wind still hasn't come back hunting. Roslin, my dream the other night! It was Nymeria!"

"Nymeria?" Roslin asked. "Who's Nymeria?"

"Arya's wolf, she named her Nymeria! She ran off after she bit Joffrey on the Kingsroad after King Robert brought my father to King's Landing from Winterfell. She's been missing ever since!" Robb began walking. "The dream I had last night... Grey Wind... I... We... found her. Nymeria, I mean, but she wasn't alone. She had several dozen wolves with her but when we looked into her eyes there was something there, something that reminded me so very much of Arya,"

"Robb," Roslin pursed her lips. "Isn't it possible that this could just be a coincidence? Or that perhaps the wolves were provoked? The Lannisters have taken to butchering them for their meat-"

"It _can't_ be a coincidence. Not with Grey Wind still not having been back after all this time, he'll go hunting part of the day but _never_ for entire days at a time. He wouldn't leave me unprotected for so long, especially not on the eve of battle," Robb's voice was growing excited. "He somehow knew that we had to lift Riverrun while attacking Tywin, but how-"

"Grey Wind is an exceptionally intelligent direwolf, my Lord," Roslin said. "But a master strategist he is not,"

Robb laughed. "One day, I'm going to remind you that you said those words, my Lady."

Roslin smiled. "Just the same. What is our next move, my Lord?"

"Our next move? Securing my sisters' and uncle's freedom from the Lannisters," Robb began. "Though if the Queen hopes for her brother and father's stay with us to be as comfortable as befits their station, she would do well to surrender my father's bones and greatsword for a start,"

"Perfectly sound," Roslin nodded. "Returning your family's blade is necessary, I agree. What about after the war?"

"First we have to _win, _my Lady," Robb reasoned.

"To be sure, Robb. But what I mean is, after the war, will you bend the knee to Joffrey?"

"Quite the contrary, why do you think I'm leading off negotiations of peace with the demand that Ice be returned to House Stark? Joffrey has no legitimate claim to the Iron Throne and I mean to show him that I don't need someone else to do _my _beheading for me," Robb said with quiet anger.

"Then you will declare for Renly and swear loyalty to him?" Roslin prodded.

"Renly is Robert's youngest brother, he has a claim, but Stannis is his elder. It is against the laws of men and gods that Renly be the monarch," Robb replied.

"Ahh, so if Stannis is King, _then_ you'll swear loyalty to him," Roslin said.

_What is she getting at?_ Robb wondered. "That would be what my father would have done, yes,"

Roslin sighed. "Robb, your men don't want to be ruled by another Baratheon from the south. If anything, today you showed them that you'll bear any burden, share any sacrifice. They have their King already,"

"There hasn't been a King in the North since Torrhen Stark, the King Who-" Robb began.

"Knelt to protect his people from the fire of the dragons," Roslin finished for him. "The dragons are dead, Robb. Will you honestly tell me that at the end of this war, your men will have died so Stannis can have what is rightfully his? What about what is rightfully _yours_, my Lord? There has been many talk about camp among the men. They believe Stannis Baratheon is the rightful monarch of the Iron Throne, to be true. But they don't believe the North should bow to someone who knows nothing of the Wall, of your Wolfswood, or your gods."

"You say that my men have such a care for who rules them," Robb turned it back on her. "I should think they would be content with a short winter, a long summer, and a bountiful harvest,"

"The harvest would no doubt be more bountiful without paying tribute to a King who sits a thousand or more leagues to the south," Roslin replied earnestly. "And this summer has been long my lord, which promises a longer winter. The harvest will _need_ to be bountiful if your people are to survive,"

_She's right,_ Robb realized. Nine years, had this summer been? In Dorne the winter may be mild, but they were not in Dorne. A winter where men could freeze to death from stepping away from the fire for too long. Old Nan's stories echoed in his and he gave a grimace, but hid it by grasping Roslin's hand firmly.

"_Our _people, my Lady," Robb reminded her. "_Our_ people,"

**A/N: Well I hope I did this battle scene justice, I didn't like how it was done in the show where it just skips all the carnage. Still I may read back to the battle and change it up a little bit, perhaps make the fight scene between the Mountain and Robb just a bit more interesting and add some small details. Any who say that Robb lasting any longer than five seconds against the Mountain, keep in mind, that Robb would have definitely died if Lord Umber hadn't stepped in. Also, anyone with any more names to add to Robb's personal guard (avoiding calling it a Kingsguard) that I've forgotten, please leave it in a message or a review. I'm taxing the ASOIAF wiki to about its limits for details that I overlooked in the books, I have to say it's helped out a lot. Some more AU, as the Tallhart boys, as we all know, stayed in Torrhen's Square and were killed by Theon Turncloak when he made his play against Winterfell. Mad shout out once again to Rehblick, if you haven't checked out his story for which this one is based off of, I highly recommend you do and please be sure to show it the appropriate amount of love it deserves. I can honestly say my correspondence with him got both of our creative juices flowing and he's thrown a lot of good ideas my way, some of which may have saved this fic from being either an improbably or unlikely AU of a Robb who's not so... well, dead. Other stories about an AU Robb that have been inspired me which I would also like to see receive more attention are as follows**

**The Moon That Breaks The Night by twelvestepsandhome**

**One Thing Led To Another by Min Daae**

**Lovers in the Westerlands by queenfire**

**Fly by Venotia **

**I have to say, I'm enjoying writing this fic more than the other ones and I'm surprised that it's gotten such a following so quickly. Reviews are more than welcome, they are encouraged. Those who have followed or favorited the story, but not reviewed, please come on guys, step it up a little. Five review rule applies as usual and I'm looking forward to showing you all what I have in store for the next chapter. Thanks again for all the support!**


	4. Brothers

The golden orange rays of the morning sun pried through the drapes, bringing shafts of warm light to the face of Theon Greyjoy. Bestirring himself from his slumber, Theon rose and stretched careful not to rouse the woman in his bed. Smiling in reflection of last night's loving, he began to dress himself by putting on his breeches. The room had been given to him by Robb the night before, when the Young Wolf's host had marched into Riverrun after learning the Kingslayer had abandoned his siege and marched for King's Landing. Below them in the dungeons, Tywin Lannister stewed, shamed in defeat and forced to share space with his dwarf son. Theon had found himself the serving girl last night, charming her and drawing her into his bed. _Riverland girls_, Theon reflected with a smirk. Robb would be convening his council, as was his command after their feast. _Quite the party to have in the middle of a war,_ Theon mused. Robb had drank and eaten with his Frey bride at his side but maintained a grim look throughout, despite Roslin bringing him to the dance floor. _Not even Lady Frey could make Robb forget about his sisters. _Though Ser Jaime had taken Ser Edmure with him on his march, the River lords had still found cause for celebration in reclaiming the seat of their liege lords. Slipping on a tunic, Theon quietly exited the room and began to walk briskly to the great hall for breakfast. He had never seen the castle of Riverrun and though it didn't quite compare to the imposing fortress of Winterfell it was still quite impressive nonetheless. The Kingslayer had had the right of it, besieging the castle on all sides would be the only way to effectively cut off the castle. Surrounded by rivers, the Lords of the Riverlands had boasted that with the surrounding foliage picked of fruit the castle could withstand a siege for a year or two. _Too long for the Ser Jaime, it would seem. _

Theon found Robb at the high seat flanked by his lady mother and betrothed on either side. Catching his eye, Robb waved him over, gesturing to the seat opposite his own. His scar, going from a couple inches above his left eyebrow clear down his cheek to settle just above his jaw, was still a dark red. _He'll have it for life, there is no doubt._ "Bacon with some eggs," He said to the passing serving girl. "With some of your famous fish as well, and some ale," Theon took his seat and grasped his fork and knife. "I could eat for days," He explained with a smirk.

"You've earned it after how you fought at the Green Fork," Robb said smiling. "It seems I was wrong in thinking you're only skill lie in the bow,"

"I certainly am relieved that you were at his side, Theon," Roslin nodded gratefully.

"I'd expect nothing less," Catelyn replied. "He and Robb have been nigh inseparable since Theon came to Winterfell,"

"What's our next move?" Theon asked as the servers brought his food to him.

"We'll wait until after breakfast," Robb said, wiping his lips with a napkin. "I want to assemble the council in grandfather's solar," Olyvar came and refilled Robb's goblet.

"How is Lord Hoster?" Theon said between bites of fish.

"He's still very lucid," Catelyn said lightly. "Though the Maester Vyman tells me his condition will not get any better,"

They continued to eat enjoying conversation and japes, Robb even cracked a smile at Theon asking how soon they could expect to see his and Roslin's wedding. _War has made him grim,_ Theon thought as a blushing Roslin giggled, "The pact says that once the war is over, Robb and I will be joined," her fingers found his hand and Robb squeezed warmly.

"In the eyes of the Seven or beneath a heart tree?" Theon asked, eyebrows raised.

"Well, it's a bit early to go into such detai-" Robb began but Roslin cut in.

"I would be happy to swear to my Lord's gods," Roslin looked warmly at Robb. "It is what I feel to be in his heart,"

"As it was in his father's," Catelyn smiled approvingly. "It is in all Northmen's,"

The rest of the lords gathered and shared the food conversation, Lord Umber taking the opportunity to lay another of his mighty clap at Robb's back and even inclining his head at Theon. "Gods, Greyjoy, was that your room I heard all that racket coming from last night? It'll be a miracle if the poor lass will even be able to stand this morning," The other lords guffawed and cat called while Roslin and Catelyn rolled their eyes.

"That's enough," Robb stood when the jeers had died down and the plates were soon empty. "My lords, mother, my Lady, we shall carry this meeting to Lord Hoster's solar," The sound of chairs scooting backwards echoed throughout the halls as the assembled men stood and followed Lord Stark out of the hall. Theon smirked and followed, _Their ears all perk up quite nicely to Lord Eddard's pup,_ he reflected. _But any illusions they had of Robb being a pup died at the Green Fork. _Theon took the steps two at a time, staying close behind the Blackfish as Lady Catelyn opened the doors to reveal a Lord Hoster Tully upright in bed reading a book.

"Cat!" The old man removed his spectacles and put down his book, his old face making a large smile. "And Robb! Seven, how you've grown!" Lord Tully's liver spotted hands gestured for his daughter and grandson to come closer, embracing them both tightly.

"It has been quite some time, brother," Ser Brynden's voice had barely a touch of somberness to it. It had been just after Robert's Rebellion that the Blackfish had gone with Lysa Arryn and her husband to the Vale to serve as Knight of the Gate. The two brothers had quarreled for years after Ser Brynden refused to marry the Redwyne woman his lord brother had chosen for him.

"Brynden," Lord Hoster's voice carried it's own somberness. Robb and Catelyn both took a step back, allowing the Lord of the Trident a clear view of his estranged brother. "You're grey in the hair now, little brother,"

Brynden raised an eyebrow and nodded his head at Hoster's own pale hair and both brothers shared a laugh and Brynden closed the distance between the two, accepting his brother's hand in a warm, reconciling clasp. "Where is Lysa, Brynden? Did she not come with you?"

Brynden's face darkened. "She hasn't answered any ravens, not a word. She intends to keep the knights of the Vale out of the war,"

Hoster's face twisted in anger, coughing harshly. "Outrageous. It will not stand. Lord Arryn would not have sat idly by while the Starks and Tullys marched to war,"

"I tried, my Lord," Ser Brynden began. "As did Cat. She won't be moved,"

"I must write her at once," Hoster began searching for a quill and some parchment. "Her nephew leads a host to war, her brother and nieces are hostages, Lord Eddard and her own _husband_ are slain because of these treacherous lions sitting the Iron Throne. She _must_ rouse herself!"

"She fears the for safety of her child, my Lord," Catelyn spoke up. "He's only a boy, and sickly as well. At nine years he is still at her breast-"

"He is still at her _what?_" Hoster coughed again as he began writing a message. "No, that is unacceptable. Maester Vyman, send this with the swiftest of ravens to the Eyrie at once,"

"Yes, my Lord. If I may make a suggestion however?" Vyman accepted the rolled parchment and placed it into the folds of his robes. "Lady Lysa's concern for her child's safety is not so unreasonable, the Lannisters have proven they are willing to stop at nothing for their own gains. She suspects that they had a hand in Lord Arryn's death-"

"My husband also lies slain, Maester," Catelyn replied sharply. "Yet not a man here sees us hiding in Winterfell,"

"Hiding in Winterfell," Lord Hoster repeated. "Yes, of course, that's it! Robert Arryn will be taken as a ward of House Stark, to be raised in Winterfell until he reaches manhood, he'll be safely out of the reach of the Queen there. Lysa will not possibly be able to argue his safety when he's so far away from danger,"

"I consent," Robb said. "Bran and Rickon will welcome our cousin. And he'll have the finest treatment available in Winterfell, Maester Luwin showed his skill in healing with Bran after he fell-"

"Bran? What's happened with Bran?" Lord Hoster asked. Catelyn elaborated on Bran's injury during the Lannister's stay in Winterfell, his recovery, and subsequent crippling. "That poor boy. Good that we have at least two of the Lannisters locked away safely. Yes, this must be done at once,"

"My Lord," Vyman insisted. "We need to draw Lady Lysa back here to Riverrun. It has been many years since the two of you have been face to face. I have little doubt that once she sees you, hears your voice, that she'll see to reason,"

"Lysa made it clear that she has every intention of hiding in the Eyrie until this storm passes, regardless of the victor," Catelyn replied. "She has known of Father's condition for years now, it will take something significantly imperative that would make her choose between her family or her isolation,"

"A wedding," Roslin spoke for the first time since entering the room and suddenly all eyes were on her.

"And who are you, my dear?" Lord Hoster put his spectacles back on.

"Lady Roslin Frey, if it please, my Lord," Robb's betrothed gave a practiced curtsy.

"Frey? You're one of Walder Frey's daughters?"

"Lady Roslin and I are betrothed, grandfather," Robb said earnestly, holding Roslin's hand. "The price set by Walder to allow our crossing the Twins,"

Hoster shook his head, "That man has never let a single person pass that damnable bridge without making sure there's something in it for him,"

"_We take our toll,"_ Roslin spoke the words of House Frey and Hoster gave a harsh laugh.

"Yes, my dear, it would seem you do. My, my, but this one is a pretty one, Robb. You're very fortunate he didn't marry you to that child, Walda. Though perhaps that would have been wiser, as she stands to inherit the Crossing,"

"Lord Walder allowed me to choose from his daughters and granddaughters," Robb replied. "I also took her brother, Olyvar, as my squire. Arya must also marry his son Elmar after the war is over,"

Hoster gave a chuckle. "I never expected the man to be so generous. Tell me, girl. Can you still love this man who is to put your father to the sword? Can you remain loyal after he gives justice to the Late Lord Frey?"

"Ser Stevron is now the Lord of House Frey," Roslin replied. "And though I love my brothers and some others among my House, I will admit that my family doesn't celebrate loyalty to blood despite what Walder taught his heir. I will not be sad to see the man go,"

"Hmm," Lord Hoster scratched his sruffy cheek. "Winterfell and the Twins united. It will certainly make marching between Riverrun and Winterfell much easier. You're quite right, though, dear. A refusal of an invitation to her nephew's wedding would all but name the Vale as a hostile force and Jon Arryn's bannermen will have been beseeching Lysa to join the fighting. Why, I've received no less than a dozen ravens from Runestone, Songstrong, Redfort, Grey Glen, Ironoaks, and others beseeching me to call Lysa from the Eyrie to Riverrun. I think that this betrothal represents an opportunity to force Lysa into picking a side in this war at last,"

"If the Vale joins us," Ser Brynden said. "Their knights could take to the Kingsroad and either hold it against any more troops marching North or give chase to the Kingslayer and take him from behind,"

"Leaving us free to march west," Robb nodded. "We're receiving reports of another host under Ser Stafford Lannister being called at Oxcross. I do not think it wise for us to march to King's Landing lest we fall prey to the same trick we're planning against Ser Jaime,"

"Well surely we can't wait for Ser Stafford to be at our gates for the sake of a wedding, my Lord," Lord Bolton said quietly. "There's still a war to fight,"

"Then send the raven today," Theon suggested. "Tell your lady aunt to call her own banners to the Bloody Gate, bid her bring Lord Robert to Riverrun with all haste,"

"Mind your tone, Greyjoy," Roose's voice had gone ice. "It is not your place to order the Tullys about,"

"Lord Bolton, enough," Robb said. "Theon has the right of it. Grandfather, if you'd care to amend your letter to Aunt Lysa?"

"Maester Vyman, hold fast," Lord Hoster waved him back, gesturing for him to hand him back his letter to Lysa. Scribbling a post script, he handed back the note to Vyman who immediately walked briskly to the raven's roost.

"I think that concludes our business, my Lords," Robb said. "You'll be notified when Lady Lysa's response arrives, but in the meantime I'll have orders for each of you by midday. Ser Brynden, I'd like you to take a small patrol of outriders west to the Westerland border. Dress as westernmen, find out what you can about the happenings at Oxcross, and report back immediately, I would know the size and strength of this new Lannister host,"

His bannermen bowed and Theon made for the door, but Lady Catelyn's voice held him back. "Not you, Theon. Please, shut the door," He did so and found a seat.

Robb cleared his throat, "I know it is your wish to return to Pyke. You've been an excellent ward to my father, a brother to me since you came to us from the Iron Islands and no one in this room has reason to question your loyalty,"

Theon met Robb's gaze passively. "But?"

"But your father will still have blamed us for your brothers' deaths, Theon," Catelyn said gently. "He could choose to be angry at the other Houses involved in putting down his Rebellion, but because King Robert demanded you be sent with Ned I have no doubt that in his mind it will be as if my husband put them to the sword by his own hand,"

Theon resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably in his seat. "I...er... I'm not sure what to say, my Lady. Surely you don't ask for my forgiveness?"

"You're forgiveness won't bring Rodrik and Maron back to your father, Theon. But perhaps your understanding of why they died will make things clearer to you," Catelyn's eyes were soft, compassionate. "Your brothers' blood is on your lord father's hands, Theon. He started his war out of foolish pride, outnumbered ten to one, a war no one could hope to win. You were brought to Winterfell as a hostage, yes. But wards are also often used to foster bonds of friendship between Houses. As Ned befriended King Robert when they were both wards of Jon Arryn, so too was hoped that you and Robb would bring Pyke into friendship with Winterfell."

"And I have," Theon's gaze switched to Robb's, looking for understanding from the younger man, "_We _have, Robb is my best friend,"

"And you are a brother to me, Theon," Robb nodded understandingly. "But try speaking those words to your father, who still holds the blame of his sons' deaths to my lord father. He would look at you as one of us, lost to his enemies. A traitor,"

"I can _make_ him understand," Theon insisted. "Send me to Pyke and he'll listen to me,"

"No," Lord Hoster spoke. "He will not, Theon. You have been a ward of Winterfell longer than you were a son of Pyke, now. He has remained spiteful and proud all these years as much as the day we had to sail to war against him. I know that you would never raise a hand against any of my daughter's children, but he will want payment for his sons' lives as any father would,"

"You'll need his ships against the Lannisters, send me to Pyke with terms-" Theon began.

"Terms sent with his son from the son of the man who he's held responsible for the deaths of his sons?" Lady Roslin scoffed. "Theon, open your eyes, would you hear such terms?"

Theon thought a moment. "No," Theon finally said, breathing out a long sigh.

"Then you understand why I can not send you home, much as I wish I could," Robb said. "Were I to put you on a ship bound for Pyke, Lord Balon would no longer have any reason not to seek his vengeance. Then Bran and Rickon's lives would be in danger and our position would be weakened,"

"What would you have me do?" Theon asked.

"At dawn tomorrow, I intend to send Lord Tyrion to King's Landing with an armed escort under the banner of truce to deliver our terms to the Queen," Robb began. "These terms include the independence of the Kingdom of the North and the Riverlands. If the Iron Throne ignores this and one soldier under any banner sworn to them sets foot in our lands, there will be no peace,"

"But what does this mean for Pyke? For me?" _A lifetime being a ward of the Starks,_ Theon thought scornfully.

"Your father's time is coming soon. You will inherit the Lordship of the Iron Islands when he dies," Robb inhaled slowly. "And I would name you, Theon Greyjoy, as my Hand. Once she is freed, I would wed Sansa to you to seal the bond you and I have made between our Houses in matrimony, and the enmity between Stark and Greyjoy will die with Lord Balon,"

Theon's jaw dropped. He looked to Lady Catelyn for affirmation and she nodded. "You honor _me, _Robb, but I have uncles that have had my lord father's ear these years I have been your father's ward. They'll never agree to this,"

"Your uncles are not your father's heirs, Theon, you are," Lady Catelyn replied. "I do not imagine Pyke being the place Sansa would prefer, her head so full of tales of the chivalry of the South, but you have the right of it: To win this war we will need ships and men who know how to sail them,"

"But _Hand_? Surely one of your father's bannermen would be a better choice, one more effective of an administrator. Lord Bolton, perhaps?" Theon said. "Or Karstark? Will he not be riled when you ignore the blood ties between your Houses?"

"Did Lord Bolton save my brother from the wildlings? Does Lord Karstark stand to inherit command of the Iron Fleet? No, Pyke needs to have firm ties to the mainland. And there is none else I would sooner see Sansa wed to, but Theon," Robb's eyes grew stern now. "I will not see my sister humiliated. You will remain faithful to her and her alone, your days of whoring will be behind you. She deserves respect and that is what she will receive," Lady Catelyn arched an eyebrow towards him as well. Theon only nodded, still in awe at Robb's offer.

"I don't know what to say," Theon said.

"You once told me it was my duty to represtent my House," Robb said.

"And I shall represent mine," Theon replied, standing to his feet. Robb did the same and the two clasped hands. "I accept your offer, Robb. Once we have Sansa freed, I shall wed her and cherish her until the end of time,"

* * *

Jaime Lannister had always made it a point to ride at the front of any army under his command since the time that his lord father had first trusted him with the lives of men answering to the call of Casterly Rock. Such was the case as he led his troops south down the Kingsroad toward the capital. _And what a different city I march __to now then when I left_, he thought, remembering leaving the town to meet with his lord father after his duel with Ned Stark. He could still remember the sun shining off of their crossed blades, the spray of blood as his red cloaks cut down the former Hand's personal guard, the grunt of agony as his knife met Jory Cassel's eye. What had been in Stark's eyes that day when their blades locked, both men pushing against the other seeking purchase of leverage. It had certainly not been fear, that had been absent in Winterell's Lord's gaze as his eys met Jaime's. It had been a passiveness. A set determination. Whatever the man had felt that day, it was hidden beneath a cold, grim, mask, not giving any indication of worry or doubt even for a moment.

Jaime had relished their fight. Never before had any man he had fought given him such a duel, forcing the Kingslayer to push himself to his absolute limits. Not a man in the Seven Kingdoms that had tasted Jaime's blade could claim as much. And Ned Stark had met him, blow for blow, his skill betraying his age. Jaime had just begun to relish their dance, when suddenly the _intruder _had brought an abrupt end to the song. He had longed to carve out the man's belly, but it would have been a waste of time. The blow to the man's face had served as a lesson and he had had to move quickly to join his father in mounting an assault on the Riverlands.

_Father,_ he thought fleetingly. A captive of the Starks, along with his brother, Tyrion. Father had never had anything but scorn for his youngest son while Jaime and Tyrion had enjoyed a close relationship in spite of his role in the cruel fate of Tyrion's first wife. Tyrion and Tywin's current predicament had left House Lannister in a severely weakened position. While the remnants of his lord father's host had momentarily scattered to the wind, they had gathered themselves under Ser Kevan and rejoined Jaime's host after he had abandoned Riverrun's siege and taken to the Kingsroad for King's Landing. _Cersei and Joffrey will need these men if we hope to stand a chance against the Baratheons, _he thought. Stannis had fled for Dragonstone after Jon Arryn's death and Renly for Storm's End shortly before Eddard Stark's arrest. Whether the brothers would find common cause with each other or allow themselves to destroy each other over their own egos, it mattered not to Jaime. An army was making for King's Landing to destroy his sister and nephew.

_Son,_ he thought with a chuckle. The Lannister twins had managed to fool the realm into believing that Robert was Joffrey's father and up until recently it had only been Jaime and Cersei that had been in on their little jape. Three children Robert thought he had sired by Cersei, only in truth he had fathered numerous sons and daughters by what seemed like every other woman in Westeros _but _Cersei. How he had longed to laugh in his goodbrother's face each time the King had made him mind the door while he drank, shit, ate, and whored with every common serving wench that had the curves or teats to catch the eldest Baratheon's fancy.

The convoy trotted along. Jaime could see from the back of his horse that many of the foot had their heads bowed low, shamed in their defeat at the hands of a boy so young it could be wondered whether or not hair had begun to grow from his cheek. Their hearts had broken when they had seen their commander, the mighty Tywin Lannister, taken prisoner at the Green Fork. Robb Stark had changed the playing field by removing his father from the war, Jaime had no doubt. Removing such an effective commander with a reputation for ruthlessness and victory had taken the men's heart. It would require a great victory to give it back to them. _And now we march to defend King's Landing against an invasion,_ Jaime thought shrewdly. _No, it won't do. The men need Father. They need Tywin Lannister giving the commands in the field. They only need to hear _The Rains of Castamere_ to remember what happens to the enemies of House Lannister. __But Tyrion-_

Jaime frowned. For anything he would trade one more moment to explain to Tyrion the sad truth of the sin he had committed against Tyrion all those years ago. While his sister had spurned their brother since the day their mother died giving birth to him, Jaime had loved Tyrion all their lives. He wished he could explain, but what would he say? That he wanted his brother's first time with a woman to be special, that it truly _had_ been chance meeting Tysha on the road, that she truly _was_ the crofter's daughter and that her love for Tyrion had been sincere? Surely the words would pour forth, that he had never meant to hurt his brother, that he loved him and detested his treatment at the hands of their father and sister.

_Then where were you when our lord father set his guards on her like a pack of rabid dogs? _He could hear the hurtful accusatory tone in Tyrion's voice already. And the truth was he hadn't even known of their father's cruelty until many months later. But it was true, his brother would have had the right of it. He should have protected his brother from that wretchedness. He should have stood up to the mighty Tywin.

"Caught we are," He had heard one of the smallfolk mention to another. "Starks and Tullys to the North, the Baratheons and Tyrells to the South. Even the bloody _wolves_ are after us, and not just the ones on the flags from Winterfell,"

"Lord Tywin was the key," his mate had replied. "Ser Jaime is the finest sword in the Seven Kingdoms, but it was his father that was the real commander. I've drunk with some of his household guard, they say when Lady Tarbeck rebelled-"

"We all know the story, you idiot," a third one joined in. "Lady Tarbeck had taken three Lannisters hostage because she thought her shit smelled better than Tytos Lannister and took three Lannisters as hostages because the Lannisters had taken Lord Tarbeck as a hostage of their own. Lord Tywin suggested that they send back Tarbeck in three pieces. The hostages end up getting traded, a few years later the Tarbecks rebel with the Reyens against Casterly Rock and Tywin takes it upon himself to burn both Houses to ashes, destroying every member of both families."

"Everyone in the realm knows that story," the first man said grimly. "It's that kind of commander we need now. Though I'd put the Kingslayer against the Young Wolf in one on one any day,"

"The boy ain't as green as we may think," the third replied glumly. "He killed the Mountain,"

"He had help killing the Mountain," the second man shot back. "I don't know if you've been asleep the past few weeks, but from our end it seems that it's the actual wolves we need to worry about in these lands,"

"They say he turns into a wolf at night," the first man said fearfully. "They say it's actually him that's lead that pack that found us at Riverrun, seeking out blood for revenge against his father,"

Hearing enough, Ser Jaime pulled the reins of his horse to meet Lord Gawen Westerling of the Crag, who he had put in charge of the prisoners taken since invading the Riverlands.

"Take me to him," the Kingslayer commanded. Lord Westerling bowed his head respectfully and gestured for Jaime to follow him. The two trotted to the rear of the convoy where the prisoners had been put into barred carriages. There Ser Jaime looked upon Ser Edmure Tully, heir of Riverrun and the Trident and brother to Catelyn Stark.

"Ahh, good morning, Kingslayer," Ser Edmure grinned. _Quite pleased with himself he heard of his nephew's victory at the Green Fork,_ Jaime thought seethingly. "It seems your men are a bit confused. We seem to be marching _away_ from the battlefields. I didn't think that lions would run from wolves after the first bite,"

Edmure gave a mocking laugh and spat at Honor's hooves. "I expect you're here to tell me that my nephew's arranging a trade,"

Now it was Jaime's turn to laugh. "No, ser. You're going to stay there in your cage all the way to King's Landing where you'll join your sweet nieces in chains. _I_ will be marching to Riverrun to take back my lord father and my brother as well. I'll have them back before any deals are made. And if I hear any talk that your behavior was anything less than exemplary, I'll send your dear sister one finger of her daughters at a time. Sweet Sansa first, as is her wont as the elder of the pair, of course,"

Edmure scowled, "You'll never break into Riverrun by yourself, Kingslayer," he gritted out harshly. "They don't tend to keep many old men as prison guards, you see. I recall those are your favorite type to sneak up on,"

"Oh, I won't be going alone," Ser Amory Lorch rode beside him accompanied by a dozen other knights, each bearing a different sigil on their armor or shield.

"Well you're certainly going to need them," Edmure hadn't bat an eyelash. "If you think that you're going to storm Riverrun with this lot-"

"Interesting that all you lords and knights are so interested in storming a castle," a man with dark eyes and darker hair pulled his horse out of the column behind Edmure's cart and trotted next to Jaime, keeping pace. "You've never given thought to how much easier it is to sneak in, nice and quiet as you like. Just like a woman giving her cunt to you with pretty words and a flower instead of a slap across the face or the coin in your pocket," The man gave a wolfish grin.

"And who would you be? Another sellsword?" Amory Lorch guffawed. "As if we need any more of your filth,"

"I rode with Lord Tyrion out of the Vale, I'm his man," the sellsword replied. "Name's Bronn. And if you're going to be planning on rescuing your little brother, Ser Jaime, then I'd feel obliged to come along. If nothing else than to make sure the little Imp gets me my coin, he did promise to keep that part of our deal whilst their was still breath in his stunted little chest. And I don't leave jobs half-done,"

**A/N: I hate to split a chapter into two POVs, but it was either a Theon/Jaime split or a Jaime/-wait, that would give away the next chapter. The Jaime POV was short, but it really was exactly the length required to get the general idea across, other POVs outside of Robb will be larger in the future. Let me know what you think so far, as before I'll be making tiny revisions and edits as I see them, so leave what you think in that handy little review box. Thanks again for all reviews that I have gotten so far, I really appreciate everyone who has followed or favorited so far. Almost forgot, massive shout out to Obsidian Sins and his story Promises Kept for providing a bad ass motto for House Frey, if you have the time please check out his story it is definitely worth the read. Thanks!**


	5. Plots and Proxies

Cold water sprayed into the _Black Wind_ and into the eyes of the men at her oars, the grey sky letting not a single ray of sunshine down onto her crew. Back and forth the men rowed, the freezing waves relentlessly crashing against the longship's sides. Just as relentless the ironborn broke their backs pushing the ship south, quietly muttering thanks to their Drowned God that the storm's wind favored them. Their captain stood at the helm, vigilantly holding the ship to its southern course. A fresh conquest at Deepwood Motte had stirred their hearts with fervor having taken riches, food, and women as the spoils of victory. The seat of House Glover had had a choice few defenders with most of their levies having marched south with the Young Wolf to war against the Lannisters. Asha Greyjoy smirked despite the storm, _Father's orders carried out flawlessly,_ she thought proudly.

"The time has come for our revenge against the Starks," Balon Greyjoy had said. He had assembled her, his brothers Victarion and Aeron, his goodbrother Lord Rodrik Harlaw of Ten Towers, and Lord Rodrik's cousin Ser Harras Harlaw to his solar after receiving Robb Stark's raven offering an alliance. "Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon are dead, the kraken shall once again reave and pillage as before. Stark's pup suggests we destroy his enemies for him, but we will pay the iron price for our kingdom. Asha will take thirty longships and capture Deepwood Motte, Victarion shall take Moat Cailin and cut off the North from Stark's army, and the Harlaws and Aeron will pillage the Stony Shore and make for Flint's Fingers," He punctuated each command with a finger at each point of attack, a hungry look in his cold, grey eyes.

"When Robb Stark receives word of our this," Asha said, drawing the eyes of her uncles, "Theon's life will end. Do we have no plan to bring him home before our invasion?"

Lord Greyjoy rolled the map up, looking his daughter in the eye. "It is unlikely the boy even knows his way around a ship," Victarion spoke up. The Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet, Victarion Greyjoy had taught Asha everything she had known about sailing since she was a girl... since Theon had gone to Winterfell. "He's like as not to want to put horses on our longships and call it strategy,"

"He hasn't been properly anointed by the Drowned God," Aeron Damphair barked. "He probably prays to the Stark's tree gods and dresses like a pretty southron maid," Aeron Greyjoy had fought bravely in his elder brother's Rebellion ten years ago, but had been captured early in the war and held captive by the Lannisters for the better part of the fighting. He had returned to Pyke devout in piety and a priest of the Drowned God.

"Theon is a lost cause, a Stark in all but name by now." Lord Balon agreed. Hard and cruel, face set grimly and arms folded. "He is lost to us,"

"You haven't even given him a chance," Asha replied. "You condemn him to death after you haven't even seen him in nigh ten years, your last boy. Your _only_ boy," She didn't recognize the pleading tone in her own voice. Asha remembered Theon as a small boy, but her brother nonetheless.

"Leave us," Balon said, his men bowing respectfully and exiting the room. He waited for the door to be firmly shut before turning back to Asha.

"Daughter, since Theon left, you have done nothing but excel at any task I've given to you. I told you to learn how sail, and you swallowed every lesson Victarion gave you like it was from your mother's teat. I tell you to learn the Old Way and you study at Aeron's foot as if you expect to grow gills, swim to the bottom of the sea and find the Drowned God himself. I tell you to learn how to fight, and Harlys says he's never seen a woman take to the blade so quickly. I've never needed to discipline you, nor have I rarely been cross with you. Now we see this son of the man who put Rodrik and Maron to the sword crown himself as King in the North. We will take his kingdom for our own, we will pay the iron price," Balon drew breath. "Theon is the iron price. His death will rally any Ironborn dwelling on the Islands to the cause, putting the fire of vengeance in their hearts,"

Asha kept her face calm. Theon had been a boy when Rodrik and Maron had died, barely ten years old. She remembered the beatings the youngest Greyjoy would endure at her elder brothers' hands, laughter ringing the halls of Pyke as Theon dried his eyes and sulked away. She would always wish she had offered comfort to Theon after moments like these, her brother could have used a reassuring hand on his shoulder at the very least. And now, ten years after he had been taken hostage, who could possibly know what kind of man he had grown in to? Did he draw confidence from his position as Balon's only surviving son? Had he befriended his captors? She remembered hearing that Eddard Stark had a son near enough of an age with Theon, had this boy become the brother Theon had always wanted?

"As you say, Father. I will take the castle of Deepwood Motte, hold it, and await your orders,"

The battle had lasted the turn of the moon. Her thirty ships had sailed in the black of night, gliding between Sea Dragon Point and Bear Island, landing north of the castle. A thousand of her men had laid siege, surrounding Deepwood Motte. The skeleton crew defending House Glover's seat had barred the gates and manned their walls for only a month's time before surrendering the castle to Asha. Lady Glover

Asha had only broke _part_ of her word to her father, for as the storm raged and her bosun bellowed challenges to her men, the Lady Greyjoy had only one clear thought on her mind. _Rescue Theon_, she thought grimly. The servants at Deepwood Motte had, after hours of roughing from her men, finally confessed that Ned Stark's ward hadn't remained at Winterfell. Theon had rode south to the Riverlands with their King Robb to fight by his side. _A brother in arms, _Asha thought grimly. _Father may have had the right of it._

* * *

Olyvar had seen Riverrun but once in his life, when Walder Frey had bid Perwyn and his brothers and sister to accompany a number of others to the castle for Hoster Tully's nameday. The young Frey had been a small boy then, feeling unnoticed among his much older half brothers. Feeling almost invisible, he had taken to strolling the grounds and castle walls, even visiting the godswood. Now he felt a surreal feeling of unease as everywhere he went inside the castle, people met his eyes and nodded respectfully. The night before, the Lords of the Trident and the North had declared Robb Stark their King. Outright treason, some might say. Others would call it a bold spit in the face of a pretender sitting the Iron Throne. A bastard of incest, Olyvar had heard the lords call Joffrey Baratheon around the fire last night, not to bowed to or paid any respect. _The Lannisters had to have seen this coming after executing Lord Eddard,_ Olyvar thought as Lord Umber had given his support by drawing his sword and bowing before Robb. Galbart Glover had followed, then Theon, and Lord Karstark after him. After the first four, if Robb had commanded that the rest not join in, no one would have heard him for the shouts.

The North and the Riverlands now had a King, a _Stark_ King, and Olyvar's sister would be his Queen. It seemed so surreal to Olyvar, having had scores upon scores of brothers he had never expected to one day be related so closely to a King much less a squire for one. King Robb had given him leave to enjoy the afternoon, the two young men having just seen Tyrion Lannister off with his escort of thirty men-at-arms.

"The Imp will be returned to us after he has given the Queen our terms?" Olyvar had asked.

Robb answered without turning his head, his gaze never leaving Tyrion as the road went further into the trees, "Our men will make sure that he doesn't set foot inside the castle walls, Queen Cersei will hear our terms from a hundred paces outside of the city gates. If she accepts, she will send my father's sword and remains out first. Once we have them, Tyrion will be allowed to stay and our men will return here. If she refuses, my men have orders to return to Riverrun with the Imp if they have to carry him kicking and screaming,"

"Are you sure giving up the Imp is wise, your Grace?" Olyvar asked.

King Robb had smiled. "I've spoken with our prisoners in the dungeons, including Tyrion. The Imp is clever, to be sure, but he is no warrior. You could almost say him and I have come to a certain... understanding regarding his nephew,"

"An understanding?" Olyvar gaped. "You mean he's turned his cloak?"

"Oh no, of course not," The Young Wolf shook his head. "But he assured me that Joffrey acted alone when he executed my father, that his actions were not condoned by the Queen, himself, or Lord Tywin,"

"And what of," Olyvar had caught his words, lest he say something he may regret but Robb had already read his face.

"Lord Walder," His face became set and grim. It had hung between them like a thick cloak, knowing that Walder Frey's executioner had not ever been a question of _who_, but _when_.

"Aye, your Grace," Olyvar tilted his chin and met Robb's eye.

"He has asked to see you, take the rest of the afternoon if you like."

Walder Frey hadn't asked to see Olyvar even after the boy had been pushed out of his mother's womb. Olyvar had nonetheless found himself strolling the grounds, making his way to the dungeons of the castle if in a tedious, stalling, and roundabout fashion.

He finally found himself at the heavy oak door when a flash of grey against the green muddy banks of the river caught his eye. Standing with his hand on the door, he felt his jaw drop as Grey Wind padded to greet Olyvar. The direwolf had been hunting, as the blood flaking his muzzle indicated, though any remaining savageness was betrayed as he sat before Olyvar and licked his hand. Olyvar kneeled and scratched the beast behind the ear and patting him on the head. Grey Wind leaned into his hand, giving a haughty yawn and Olyvar had to avert his nose at the stench. Fresh kills gave bad breath, it would seem, Olyvar mused. Grey Wind began clawing at the door, looking at Olyvar expectantly and letting out a demanding _woof_. _What in seven hells is this dog wanting in the dungeons after having been missing for three days?_ Olyvar turned the knob and Grey Wind walked in, barks echoing down the halls with Olyvar close behind.

Olyvar followed the wolf through many turns until finally the reached another oak door, Olyvar recognizing it as the door to the chamber containing the cells that held his father. Before he approach the door, however, it opened revealing Lord Bolton at the other side.

Lord Bolton's lip curled at the wolf as Grey Wind showed teeth and gave a deep, menacing growl. "What are you doing, boy?" Roose demanded, his voice rising above Grey Wind's snarls.

"My lord father has asked King Robb to allow him to speak with him," Olyvar replied, eyeing Grey Wind nervously, who's gaze still hadn't left Lord Bolton's face.

"You expect me to believe that King Robb has allowed one imprisoned Frey to speak another? Do you take me for a fool, boy?" Grey Wind gave a harsh bark, stepping between Olyvar and Roose. "Won't you silence that beast?" It wasn't fear that crept into Roose's voice, the leeches had sucked that away from him long ago, but there was a certain annoyance.

"Our King's word takes precedence over your's, Lord Bolton," Olyvar patted Grey Wind on his head. "And if Grey Wind is any indication, it isn't my faith that the Starks should be worried about,"

"Olyvar!" a cry came from inside the room. Olyvar peered inside to see Walder Frey beckoning him in. "Come, boy, come. Get over here and leave Lord Bolton to his business,"

Lord Bolton gave another sneer and Grey Wind barked once more and ran to Walder's cell and laid in front of it, eyeing him warily. Olyvar entered the room and closed the door behind him, locking it tightly.

"You've grown tall since I've seen you last," Walder said, wiping his runny nose. The old man had grown thin and gaunt in his captivity.

"Which was when, exactly?" Olyvar asked slowly with a frown. Whatever flattery this old man would try, it wouldn't work.

"Don't be an insolent shit, boy," Walder spat. "I've had grandsons that came before you, it was all I could do to look after the lot of you,"

"Yes," Olyvar replied venomously. "and you've done such a lovely job. Father what is it exactly that you wanted to talk about?"

"You ought to show some respect, you ungrateful worm!" Walder screeched. "You would be nothing if I hadn't told Catelyn Stark that you were to be taken as her son's squire, still a man grown of eighteen years and not even a knight! Who do you think put you where you are? And you repay me with sass and cur!"

"Whether you put me here or not, _Robb_ chose Roslin," Olyvar roared back. "I've earned my place here on your arrangement, I would have earned it eventually without it. And you're not the Lord Frey any longer,"

"Seven hells, your King is the one that is going to take my head off! Me, your own father! Doesn't that anger you at all?"

"You conspired with the Lannisters, you ignored Ser Edmure's ca-"

"The Lannisters are our _family_, you ever remember that? Your brother Emmon married Lord Tywin's own sister! Is half the gold beneath Casterly Rock truly worth less than all the snow in Winterfell to you? You're a bigger fool than I thought," Olyvar crossed his arms.

"You didn't bring me down here to scream at me. Tell me what you want so I can leave," Olyvar's voice was firm, and Grey Wind stood by his side with the same snarl on his face and a low growl bubbling from his throat.

"I called to ask that you show gratitude and respect for the one who put you where you are, both in status and in life," Walder's expression turned from sneer to snarl. "That you would remember the man that squirted you from his balls into your mothers cunt and for fuck's sake, _get me out of this cell_ and _kill Robb Stark_!"

Grey Wind punctuated Walder's sentence with a series of threatening barks but was calmed by Olyvar's hand brushing his fur.

"Robb has given Roslin a thousand times more love and respect than she or any of us ever had with you," Olyvar growled. "If you think that I'd betray that for you, you're mistaken. And when you're rotting in whichever of the seven hells the gods see fit to toss you in, you would also be mistaken to count on leaving behind a grandchild named Walder Stark, either. Goodbye, Father," and with that, Olyvar Frey turned on his heel and marched out of the room, Grey Wind at his heels and Walder's shrieks ringing in his ears.

Grey Wind followed him out of the dungeons and back into the Riverrun's courtyard, finding Roslin at the godswood just outside the walls. She didn't look to be praying but Olyvar did note a certain reflection in her thousand yard gaze, searching the screaming face of the heart tree for something.

"Taking a new faith in the Old Gods, sister?" Olyvar mused.

"We'll be going north after the war is over," Roslin responded, turning to face her brother. She smiled as Grey Wind barked happily in greeting and rushed to her heels where she scratched him lovingly behind the ears. "I'm just getting used to being in a place like this,"

"It can be..." The word didn't come to Olyvar's mind right away.

"A bit more overwhelming than a sept," Roslin finished for him.

"Yes, quite," Olyvar agreed, sitting at a nearby bench and patting the seat next to him.

"You've spoken to father," Roslin took the offered seat, flattening out her simple gown.

"He's asked me to break him loose and kill Robb," Olyvar pursed his lips. "I think there's something else, though I dare not say,"

"Go on, Olyvar," Roslin encouraged her elder brother. "Were you alone?"

"No, Grey Wind found me just before I went into the dungeons. When we went inside, Lord Bolton was leaving father's cell block,"

"Roose Bolton?" Roslin arched eyebrow. "What would he want with Father?"

"I don't know, but Grey Wind wouldn't shut up when we crossed paths with him," Olyvar shook his head. "I don't like it. Father's up to something. Have you and Robb officially set a date yet?"

"We're just waiting for the Blackfish to return with the outriders and any word from Lysa Arryn," Roslin said. "Oly, I don't like this at all. I paid attention when our maester gave us lessons. For a thousand years and more, the Boltons have been the sworn enemies of the Starks. On more than one occasion the Winter Kings have had to put down rebellions from the Dreadfort,"

"You think Lord Roose is going behind Robb's back with Father?" Olyvar raised an eyebrow. "Why? Just to bring up some ancient grudge between their houses? What's to gain? We have _two_ Lannisters locked away, Bolton has more to gain by remaining loyal to the Starks,"

"Robb named Theon Greyjoy Hand of the King," Roslin replied. "Robb and Theon are as brothers, but it's no secret that since he called the banners at Winterfell that Lord Bolton has expected to be given more power in Robb's host. The seeds may have been sown when Robb gave the van to Galbart Glover, but they have come to flower when he was passed over for a ward as Robb's right hand man,"

"But he commanded the army that went against Tywin Lannister!" Olyvar insisted. "His name will be in stories and books and songs as-"

"As the one who held the dirty laundry while Robb went in for the kill," Roslin finished, her eyes widening as she came to the realization. "Come, Olyvar. We need to talk to Stevron and Robb now,"

She clutched his hand and dragged him out of the godswood with Grey Wind leading them back into the castle. It didn't take long to find them, Robb had received his grand uncle along with his other chief lords in his study. The men were looking at a map when he raised his eyes to meet her's. For an instant a small smile reached his lips until he saw the look on her face.

"Your Grace," she said bowing, Olyvar following suite. "My lords, I hope you'll forgive me, but I would have a private word with our King and my brothers," She nodded her head to Lord Stevron, who frowned and crossed his arms as none of the men moved. Grey Wind gave a single bark that seemed to shake them out of some sleep.

"Out you lot!" Lord Umber barked. "You heard her!" The men rustled out of their chairs and took to the door. Roose Bolton was second to last and Olyvar felt the chill crawl up his spine as their eyes met.

"Grey Wind!" Robb said as the wolf stood on his hind legs and put his forepaws on Robb's shoulders and licked his face. "When did you get back?"

"He found me after I left you to visit my father," Olyvar said.

"You spoke to father?" Lord Stevron leaned back on the table beside Robb, scratching Grey Wind on the head as he hopped off of Robb. "What did he say?"

Olyvar launched into his story of his and Walder's conversation and saw Robb's face sink as Roslin joined in.

"It was when I shot him down in front of Theon when we spoke to grandfather," Robb said, rubbing his cuticles. "But you are right, Roslin. He's felt slighted from the beginning. Picking Theon over him must have been the last straw,"

"I wasn't going to say anything while the rest of the lords were here, your Grace," Lord Stevron supplied. "But I've received word that Lord Bolton has been seen making appointments with certain elements of my family closer in faith and bond to my brother, Emmon, who has taken arms against his blood in favor of the Lannister he's bound with,"

"Secret meetings with Freys that have connections to the Lannisters, Olyvar bumping into him leaving Father's cell, not to mention Grey Wind can't stand him," Roslin counted them off her fingers. "Ice had better get here soon, Robb. It seems that it shall have a great amount of thirst to quench,"

"We need to prove his treason," Olyvar said. "We need to let him think nothing is amiss so the true nature of his plan can come to light,"

"I'm the bait." Robb looked up in shock at Roslin. "The wedding. Everyone will be drinking, I'll be surrounded by Freys-"

"It's the perfect time to make his move," Stevron agreed. "So what's our's?"

"The Freys have Houses sworn to them," Roslin replied. "The Erenfords, the Charltons, the Haighs? We use them, none of the knights of the Crossing until we know for sure who we can trust. Olyvar can gather them, if anyone sees them they'll assume he's just passing along orders from Robb,"

"Which is true," Robb nodded his head. "And then what? We let it play out until the day of the wedding?"

"From this moment, Roose will have a person watching him from a distance. We'll make no inquiries towards the Freys he's been talking to until the ceremony," Stevron said. "And until then, Robb keeps Grey Wind close,"

"Robb," A voice came from the doorway. Ten pairs of eyes turned to see Catelyn standing in the doorway clutching a slip of paper. "Word from the Vale,"

Robb straightened to alert. "Mother," Out of the corner of his eye, Olyvar saw Roslin's eyebrows raise. Aside from meeting Hoster Tully, Roslin hadn't seen the two of them together since their falling out but for sparing occasions. "What news?"

"She has mustered her bannermen, she's marching for Riverrun,"

**A/N: Sorry this one took so long to get out I've have a lot going on lately and haven't had the time nor the real inspiration to write, this chapter is really kind of just a filler chapter that sets the stage for the next one, which I'll do my best to make sure is up as soon as possible. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and followed this story, it means a lot. **


	6. Swords and Sisters

Lancel Lannister was brought before the Small Council, the herald who had heard the terms from the emissary of the Starks. Ser Wylis Manderly had been chosen to lead the escort bringing Tyrion Lannister and the Young Wolf's terms from Riverrun. Arriving at the capital just days before the Northerners, however, was Emmon Frey's eldest son Cleos. The Queen had received the knight of Frey in private, but Sandor Clegane could safely guess the content of their dealings. He didn't need the Spider's little birds or Littlefinger's spies to know that while most of House Frey had joined Robb Stark, a faction under Emmon Frey had split to join Tywin Lannister due to his marriage to Tywin's sister.

Lancel, a sniveling boy that had been given a knighthood after Robert Baratheon's death, had apparently become the Queen Mother's new favorite and Ser Fix It when her desires required fulfilling both in the bedroom and outside. _Cleos Frey, Lancel Lannister, Wyman Manderly_, the Hound rolled his eyes. _If these men's masters would just meet in open battle, this bloody war would be good and done with._

"It would seem, your Grace," Lancel began finally after stuttering his way through a greeting. "That Ser Wylis has the Imp. He'll be willing to open negotiations to return all hostages and to end this war peacefully by means of a gesture of good faith from both sides. The Imp for Eddard Stark's greatsword and remains,"

Cersei gave a scoff, "What could this pup possibly gain from a sword, a rotting head, and some bones?"

"I'm sure he'll wish his father to be buried in the crypts beneath Winterfell," Littlefinger spoke.

"I've seen this sword Stark wants so badly," Joffrey sneered. "I've thought to melt it down, forge it anew in Lannister gold and red. Perhaps it'll be the sword that takes Robb Stark's head off as well. Like father like son, they say,"

"These are trivial things, your Grace," Varys chided. "A sword and a corpse for Lord Tyrion? That seems a fair enough trade, especially if it opens doors for further negotiations that could lead to Lord Tywin's release,"

"Hound," Joffrey barked behind his shoulder where Sandor stood guard. "Go take Ned Stark's head down. Find his body and sword. You'll go with our cousin to give them to this messenger and bring back my uncle. I've no love for the Imp, but Grandfather is key,"

Sandor bowed and made to leave out of the door, "Ser Clegane," Lancel's voice squeaked behind him. Sandor turned, showing only the burned half of his face to the boy. "There is one more thing, actually, concerning your brother."

Sandor turned fully now. "What has Gregor done?" his voice was hoarse as if he hadn't spoken in days.

"It would appear that he was killed at the Green Fork. Ser Wylis says that Robb Stark killed him with the help the Umbers,"

Sandor froze for a moment, all eyes on the Small Council locked on him waiting for a reaction. Sandor gave them none, only opened the door and walked out.

_Gregor dead,_ The Hound thought, long and heavy strides carrying him through the hall leading to the battlements of the Red Keep, _slain by the Young Wolf. _

Sandor didn't quite know what to make of it. Since they were boys, the mutual hatred that filled the two boys had been volcanic at points. The Hound had always imagined it to be his own blade that took the Mountain or the other way around, laws against kinslaying be damned.

Gregor being dead… changed things, to say the least. It felt strange. The torrent of rage that had long coursed through Sandor's veins could be felt calming, almost subsiding. Sandor didn't smile often, not at all, in fact. But if he did, this would certainly be one. He found himself finally at the battlements, where Ned Stark's head still remained on a spike amongst dozens of other traitors, deserters, thieves, rapists, and other criminals' heads per Joffrey's newer decrees as King.

Joffrey I, Sandor spat the foul taste that the little shit's name brought to his mouth as he hoisted himself to the ledge and plucked off the spike. The late Lord Stark had begun to rot in the weeks since his execution, Sandor flicked off maggots at the eyes and mouth and firmly grasped it by the hair and carried it away. Sandor had met a great deal of lords in his life and while Ned Stark had initially irked Sandor after he had chastised the Hound for running down the butcher's boy back when they had rode from Winterfell, there were certainly many and more lords that Clegane disliked far more. More and more, it seemed, the boy king fit this description.

Making his way to the armory, he pulled out a knapsack and put the head gently into it, trying to breathe through his mouth so as not to inhale the scent. Upon reaching the armory, he found the King's Justice sharpening a blade. Ser Ilyn's tongue had been removed for many years, but he could still hear.

"I've come for Ned Stark's blade, ser. By orders of the King," The Hound growled out the words, gnashing his teeth into them. He had never particularly hated the mute, but still bore no love for him. He had a grim duty to be sure, but there were days when he could swear that a small flicker of amusement or the faintest ghost of a smile came to him in those moments after a beheading.

Ser Ilyn frowned deeply at that and produced the blade in it's wolfskin scabbard from a nearby box, clutching it closely to his chest. The Valyrian stell shimmered and rippled beautifuly in the light. _Ice._ The Starks had carried the blade for a thousand years and more.

"King's orders, Payne," Sandor held out his hand expectantly. If the King's Justice forced him to take the greatsword from him, he would. "I'm sure you'll get a replacement soon enough. There'll always be heads in need of lopping off, let's have it then."

Reluctantly, Ser Ilyn handed it over. "I'll also need to know who knows where Ned Stark's body is being kept," Ser Ilyn mouthed words that Sandor couldn't make out. _Why does the man even bother, honestly._ "Find some fucking parchment and a quill, I don't have the time to read your lips,"

Payne rolled his eyes and did so, scribbling a single word.

_Littlefinger_

"Now that's more like it," Clegane turned his back on the executioner, strolling out of the armory with the greatsword over his shoulder. He exited the armory and began making his way toward the Master of Coin's chambers. Passing the Tower of the Hand, he began to feel the unmistakable feeling that he was being followed.

"Come out, or I'll have to start looking for you and I hate hide and seek," Sandor growled. Footsteps answered him from behind him. He turned and was greeted by Sansa Stark.

"What are you doing out of your chambers, little bird?" So soon after her father's death, the girl's boldness amazed him. It couldn't be safe for her to walk so freely about the Keep, not when the King's wrath was so close after Lord Tywin's capture.

Sansa nonetheless tilted her chin upward in defiance, betraying the look of fear in her eyes. "His Grace has summoned me to court, his Small Council stands adjourned,"

"See that you get to him quickly then, girl. You don't want to keep him waiting,"

"You carry my father's sword," Her eyes narrowed incriminatingly. Sandor avoided the unease he felt as his weight shifted between his feet. Her father's sword, and the sword that had taken his head.

"It is to be returned to your brother, as well as Lord Eddard's remains," Sandor gave his best tone of reassurance, but that had never been his strong suit.

"My brother asked for a sword and a corpse, but not Arya and I?" Hurt creeped through Sansa's eyes.

"The Queen won't begin talks by trading her two most important hostages," Sandor replied. "The sword and the body for Lord Tyrion are meant to be acts of good faith. You will be returned when trust can be rebuilt between the Queen and your brother, your Grace," he inclined his head respectfully.

Sansa straightened at that and cocked an eyebrow slightly. "Excuse me?"

"The river lords and your father's bannermen have declared your brother King in the North," Sandor explained. "This makes you and your sister Princesses,"

It had been the first time Sandor had seen Sansa smile since Ned Stark's execution. Joffrey would love to see her with more smiles, perhaps her cheer would save her from more beatings if she played along with his savagery.

The smile that she gave, though, the goodness that burst forth from her face served to make Sandor realize that she was in store for many and more cruelties at the Boy King's hands.

"A most beautiful Princess, Sansa," a voice came behind them. "One of stories and tales," Lord Baelish walked alone towards them. "I see the Hound has given you the news."

"Has there been any word of Arya?" Sansa asked, dodging Littlefinger's probe.

"It's clear from the goldcloaks' word that she no longer is in the city," Baelish put his hand on her shoulder and gave a smile that Sandor had seen before many times in Small Council meetings. "But we will find her, sweet Sansa. I promise,"

"Surely she can't have gone far, perhaps the Spider would be better suited in tracking the wolf pup down if your watchmen aren't up to the task," Sandor growled.

"Well, with all the goldcloaks preparing the city for siege, I admit they are stretched a bit thin," Littlefinger smiled politely. "Perhaps the eunuch would be the one to ask, gods know it isn't a man's intuition that one possesses,"

"The road isn't safe for little girls, Lord Baelish," Sandor replied. "I only hope one of you can get the job done,"

"Which brings me to why I'm here. Sansa, I believe Joffrey called for you, didn't he? It wouldn't be wise to keep the King waiting," Sansa curtsied and walked elegantly off, at a slower pace, Sandor noticed.

"I've been in touch with an old friend from my childhood," Baelish gestured for Sandor to walk with him, "I've convinced Lysa Arryn to join Robb Stark's host at Riverrun,"

"You're turning your cloak," Sandor's statement wasn't so much accusatory, more of stating a simple fact.

"Tywin Lannister has been beaten by Robb Stark, Clegane," Baelish's tone mirrored Sandor's. "The simple truth is that either Stannis or Renly Baratheon will march on us eventually. The Queen was counting on her father and brother to either subdue or reach a peace with the Riverlands and North quickly and then fight off Robert's brothers. Green Fork changed the pieces on the board considerably, however,"

"The King would be very interested in hearing all of this, Lord Baelish,"

"Yes, he might give his favorite dog the scraps of the table for all his hard work," Baelish sneered. "Aren't you sick of taking orders from that little monster? Do you want your head on a spike right next to his when the Baratheons invade?"

Sandor thought briefly to Gregor, and imagined his head leaving his body. Years of hatred. Years of disdain for the entire idea of knights because they had allowed Gregor to earn that title. A monster claiming some kind of chivalry, of nobility. He had talked with Sansa. Knew of her pretty words. She hadn't met his kind before, or Gregor's. Perhaps if she had, she wouldn't have as many stupid thoughts of knights in her head. But this man, Gregor, his brother, had been removed from the world like a rotten foot being taken off. He had always imagined, hoped really, that it would be him that killed Gregor. Hoped he could look into the Mountain's eyes as the light left them. Every day someone would mention his name, or his face would stray into Sandor's mind and the rage would consume him. He would break or twist whatever he was holding, he would choke on whatever he was drinking or eating. He had imagined he would carry it for him until either he died or Gregor did, and now Gregor had died. The thought did make him feel a certain…..gratitude to the Starks.

"What is it you want to do?"

"You will take Princess Sansa on a ship to the Vale where Lysa Arryn will take her to Riverrun to her family. That will buy us some gratitude from the Starks and we'll be back on the winning side,"

"What's in it for you, Baelish?"

"I've made arrangements with Lysa," Littlefinger smiled. "It'll all be taken care of when we reach Gulltown,"

"You'll be coming with us?"

"You'll leave tonight, if I leave separately from you it'll attract much less attention. It'll also give me more time to search for Arya,"

"Fine, Littlefinger," Sandor said, turning his back on him. "Make sure your Spider doesn't catch wind of your little plot. No knowing exactly who it is he serves,"

"Where are you going?" Littlefinger called after him.

"To get a bloody drink,"

* * *

Tyrion gave the dice a good shake before rolling them onto the board. "Ha!" He looked up to see his adversaries groan and shake their heads, "Would that you lot had been lucky to be born dwarves, good fellows," The men chuckled as Tyrion took his winnings.

"Form up, men," The group's leader, Ser Wylis Manderly, barked. "The trade is about to be made," The northerners stood and one of them snatched the board and folded it up. _An impressive display of unity in front of an enemy,_ Tyrion thought. He looked to the capital's gates as a small contingent of perhaps a dozen men flying the gold lion on red of Casterly Rock rode out to meet them. Tyrion noticed one of them carrying a large chest and what appeared to be a large sword.

"A sword?" Tyrion cried indignantly? "A sword and a chest? That's what I'm worth? Well I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, we are talking about my sweet sister after all," He sighed in resignation.

The horsemen finally stopped at twenty paces and Ser Wylis tapped Tyrion's shoulder, gesturing for him to wait. He closed the distance between himself and the Lannister horsemen and accepted the chest and sword from them, carrying the latter atop the former. After making his way back to his men Ser Wylis inclined his head at the Imp, the signal to leave.

Tyrion turned to his captors, bowed and waved.

"Good bye, you salty northerners, I confess you lot were a good deal more fun to be held captive to than the valemen," The men hooted and chuckled, even Ser Wylis cracked a small grin. "I pray that I never see any of you on the battlefield. Though if that fails, I pray that none of you look down," Now the hooting became roaring laughter and Tyrion waltzed back to his kinsmen, the leader of whom he noticed was Lancel.

"Good cousin, how have you been? I'd ask if you had any wine but I dare not drink from any flask held by you, it would seem a grim fate awaits those who do," The northerners laughter grew louder and Lancel gave a frown as he pulled Tyrion onto his horse and the group made their way back to the city.

"Her Grace the Queen Regent has commanded your presence immediately in the Small Council chambers," Lancel gritted out of his teeth.

"Ah," Tyrion replied as they passed through the Dragon Gate. "Good, I do have quite urgent business with her,"

The troop thundered through the city to the Red Keep and Tyrion's thoughts were of Shae, _I promised to bring her here,_ he remembered. _Promised her I would, promised Father I wouldn't._ Tyrion shook his head of these old thoughts, it wouldn't serve when he stood before his sister.

Nonetheless, he couldn't help but reflect back to his captivity at the hands of the Starks, particularly his brief visit from the King in the North.

_The cold cell wasn't the whorehouse at King's Landing, but it certainly suited Tyrion better than any executioner's block. Six cold iron cells, black stone floors, and an enormous steel door made up their dungeon. The two Lannisters had not yet encountered Walder Frey, who rumor had it had been likely imprisoned by Robb Stark. _Most likely in an adjacent chamber,_ Tyrion thought. "They won't kill us," his father had assured him. 'Assured', snapped was more like it. "We're both far too valuable alive. We'll be released in exchanged for Stark's sisters, I have no doubt,"_

_ Tyrion had nodded. It was the only thing to do when in conversation with Tywin since their capture. His father had spent most of their captivity in silence, quietly fuming at his humiliation. It had made their strained relationship only more so._

_ The door opened and, cloaked in his furs, walked in Robb Stark, followed by his great direwolf. The beast had at least tripled in size since Tyrion had seen him as a pup when he accompanied the King and Queen to Winterfell. The boy's cheeks bore a light scruff, the early beginnings of a beard. A small smile graced these cheeks as the door closed behind him. "My lords Lannister," he greeted. "I trust your accommodations have been to your liking? Could I perhaps offer you another blanket? Winter, after all, is coming," _

_ Tyrion chuckled quietly at the Young Wolf's jape, but he could almost hear his father's eyes rolling. "If you think clever words and jokes are going to win a war, boy, then might I remind you that my son still commands a host," Tywin snapped. "He'll march on you, be it here in this castle or he'll wait for you to give chase and then you will be _his_,"_

_ "Ah yes, the Kingslayer," Robb cooly replied. "I remember him from when King Robert visited Winterfell. As I recall, he pushed my brother out of a window,"_

_ "Do you have any proof of that?" Tyrion asked. _

_ "Stannis Baratheon has sent ravens to all the high lords of Westeros. He claims that King Joffrey Baratheon is neither a true king, nor a true Baratheon," Robb growled. "He's the Kingslayer's bastard son," _

_ Tyrion swallowed. It had been no secret that his brother and sister had been in close proximity as well as bond for most of the Queen's wedding to the King, it was also true that Joffrey looked absolutely nothing like Robert in the slightest degree. "Well if that's true," still Tyrion fought on though, if for nothing else than for the honor of his House. "then Stannis is the rightful king. Rather convenient for him,"_

_ "Stannis Baratheon is not a man to-" Robb began._

_ "Feel slighted? Cheated?" Tyrion interrupted. "Tell me, have you ever met the man?"_

_Robb paused, his eyes twinkling in…. what? Amusement? Curiosity? "No," He finally answered._

_ "I have. He was Master of Ships before Lord Arryn's death, he fled after the Hand was killed. He was given Dragonstone after the Rebellion while Renly was given Storm's End," Tyrion shook his head and smiled. "And let me tell you, few men have I ever seen that could argue like the brothers Baratheon,"_

_ "This doesn't change the fact that Stannis is the rightful king," Robb replied._

_ "Perhaps, will you sail to Dragonstone and swear to him and his red god? I hear that he's burned all of the statues of the Seven at the behest of his fire priestess," Tyrion said. "Would you feel comfortable letting him burn down your father's godswood? Just for the sake of justice?"_

_ Robb grinned and moved closer to Tyrion's cell. "We've both come a long way since Winterfell," _

_ Tyrion shrugged and inclined his head. "I would agree. Your brother, Snow, have you had word from him?"_

_ "Last raven from him spoke of him accompanying Lord Commander Mormount on a Great Ranging north of the Wall to find our uncle Benjen," Robb said. "The Night's Watch will welcome southern recruits, would that I could march north to help them man the Wall," _

_ Tywin sneered, the first noise he had made since Robb walked in the room. "To guard against snorks and grumpkins?" _

_ "Would that there was only snorks and grumpkins north of the Wall, Father," Tyrion said gently. "I recall sharing the road with a black brother south from the Wall before being captured by your lady mother. Yoren was his name. Perhaps he gathered recruits,"_

_ "I only hope your nephew allowed him to leave the capitol," Robb said grimly. "He seems to enjoy having the run of the realm,"_

_ "Your Grace," Tyrion could feel his father's disapproval at giving the Stark boy that honorific, "I would have you understand that Joffrey acted quite alone when he ordered your father's execution. My father and I had discussed that it would have been better for him to remain a captive with your sisters. I doubt that my sister is pleased by his actions. It seems that without a firm hand, my nephew has been allowed to run quite wild,"_

_ "What are you saying?" Robb frowned._

_ "That a Lannister always pays his debts,"_

Tyrion had been freed the next day, bidding his surprised father farewell had tasted sweet as Dornish red. Freed may have been a strong word to use. Clapped in irons and saddled to a horse who's reigns were pulled by Ser Wylis himself, he had spent the long journey down the Kingsroad becoming friendly with his northern captors. Quite easy it had been, after he had broken through their chilling wall of hatred for Lannisters. By the end of their time together he had known them all on a first name basis and had them trading stories of women they had bedded, battles they had fought, and songs they had heard. Sweet had his farewell to his father been, sweet had his journey been, and sweet was standing before his sister and telling her things would be run quite differently from now on.

"How _dare_ you talk to me that way, dwarf?" The Queen roared. "You ought to consider yourself lucky to be free of a cell,"

"You allowed your son to bring us hip deep into a war where all but two of the Seven Kingdoms have taken up arms against us," Tyrion shot back. Cersei's mouth opened then closed. "Go on, speak. Give some reason that absolves the blame entirely off your shoulders. Ned Stark was either to remain a captive here or to be taken to the Wall, instead your little monster of a chopped his head off in front of half the city,"

"There was no stopping it," Cersei replied. "After Robert died, Stannis and Renly would have fought us either way,"

"With Ned Stark alive, we could have had the Northerners as _allies_," Tyrion insisted. "Don't you see?"

"Catelyn Stark took you hostage," Cersei said, frantically now. Tyrion had her on the run, and she knew she was losing ground. "Father and Jaime had to attack the Riverlands-"

"That was before the North became involved," Tyrion fired back. "Robert and Stark could have mended that wound before Joffrey spread it open,"

"What good does any of this do, hm?" Now Tyrion had her. Finally, he had her to where the only thing left to do was accept blame or deflect responsibility.

"Joffrey has named our father as Hand of the King, correct?" Cersei nodded, wiping a tear from her eye. "As his eldest son, I am here to represent him until his release can be secured. I am acting Hand of the King,"

Silence. Cersei's hand froze at her eye as she regarded Tyrion with a look of bewilderment. Then came the laughter. That mocking, murderous laughter that rang throughout the chamber.

"_You_? Hand of the King?" The laughter continued and Cersei's hands went to her ribs. Finally after many moments it subsided. "Foolish Tyrion, _Jaime_ is Father's eldest son. _Jaime_ will be Joffrey's Hand if anyone,"

"Jaime is Kingsguard," Tyrion replied. "Sworn to give up any claims of birthright. Besides the point, you've already named him the Kingsguard's new Lord Commander and he cannot occupy both office. He's also still in the field and Joffrey needs to be reined in _now_ and if you won't do it, then I will,"

"It is not for you to say what he can or cannot do," Cersei snarled. "And Joffrey will listen to you like a fish will tap dance,"

"You fool!" Tyrion slapped his forehead with his palm. "Can you _not_ see the danger we are in? The danger _you_ have put us in? Stannis, Renly, Robb Stark. One or _all of them_ will be at our gates. It's not a question of _if_ but of _when_ and you are asking your people to follow a _boy_. One who's definitely more green than the one I've just come from!"

He looked Cersei in the eye. "Name me Hand. And let me get to work while there's still time,"

Cersei returned his look, pure loathing emnating from her gaze. "Fine,"

**A/N: I realize the last couple chapters have been rather actionless, but I wanted a chapter dealing with King's Landing and felt that Sansa should make an appearance. Thing's are going to be picking up in the next couple chapters. The feedback has been amazing guys, it means a lot that people out there appreciate the way this story's going. Keep it up, and I promise another one soon. **


	7. The Man Who Passes The Sentence

Riverrun's gates groaned and creaked as they opened, allowing Robb, Catelyn, the Blackfish, Roslin, and Robb's honor guard out to meet the knights of the Vale that had halted on the southern bank of the Trident on the Kingsroad. The knights held the banner of truce above their heads, which Robb signaled Olyvar to mirror. Catelyn pursed her lips, wondering why supposed allies should meet under parley instead of open arms. Swiftly they rode to meet them, Robb's mare neighing in anticipation.

They pulled their reins twenty paces away and were greeted with the knights raising their helms. One knight in bronze armor stood out in particular.

"It is good to see you again, Lord Royce," the Blackfish greeted, inclining his head to the foremost rider. "I am gladdened it is you that my niece has sent to treat with us,"

Lord Yohn Royce, Bronze Yohn to those who knew him, was Lord of Runestone. A reputation for honor and justice, Lord Royce's armor was covered in what looked to Robb as ancient runes.

"I only regret," Lord Royce began. "that I could not have marshaled the strength of the Vale and followed you and Lady Catelyn when you left the Eyrie, Blackfish. Lady Arryn would meet you in person, but she has had urgent matters to care to,"

"Matters more urgent than greeting her family? Than explaining her delay?" Catelyn frowned.

Lord Royce shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glancing shrewdly at his fellows, "It is not for me to discuss it so openly. Will you allow the falcon into Riverrun?"

Robb nodded. "It would be my honor, Lord Royce,"

Royce bowed in his saddle and his squires followed him away at a gallop.

"What could be so urgent that Lysa couldn't meet us here herself?" Catelyn wondered aloud.

"Could this be some kind of trick?" Roslin asked. "A ruse to get us out in the open?"

"My niece would dare not become a kinslayer, least of all whilst her father lives," Ser Brynden replied. "She must be in some kind of trouble,"

Robb tugged the reins and turned his horse around, his retinue following suite. "Whatever it is, we'll have to learn of it in the castle,"

The levies of the Vale of Arryn camped in and around the great castle, with camp fires burning it looked as though Lysa Arryn had brought nearly thirty thousand men with her. It was noon before Lysa Arryn finally brought her own retinue through the gates to be greeted by Robb's.

Robb had never met his aunt, by the time he was born Lord Arryn had taken his wife and son to King's Landing to serve as King Robert's Hand and Lord Eddard had never gone back to the capital after the Rebellion. From what his mother told him, they had been close in their youth and she had been saddened when Lord Hoster had chosen Jon Arryn, a much older man, as her betrothed. Necessary as it had been as he looked at Roslin, noting the morning chill's pink kisses on her slender cheeks and the lovely brown of her hair, he couldn't quite blame his aunt for having longed for a younger spouse.

Lysa and her men dismounted their horses and Robb recognized several of the sigils blazoned upon their chest plates and shields. The six bells argent on purple of House Belmore, the three ravens holding hearts of Corbray, Five fanned silver arrows of Hunter, the argent red castle of Redfort, Lord Royce's pebbles over runes on an orange field, and the black broken wheel on a field of green of the Waynwoods of Ironoaks. Lysa approached Catelyn and the two sisters stood before each other warily. From what Catelyn had told Robb of their last meeting, much had been left desired from Lysa.

"I was wrong, sister," Lysa bowed her head in shame. "I was very wrong,"

Catelyn's breath came out of her nose as vapor, giving her the appearance of some hissing bull. Her expression softened and she wrapped an arm around her sister's neck in embrace and Lysa gratefully reciprocated. "I forgive you, Lysa,"

The exchange was met with looks of approval both from the lords of the Vale and the Blackfish, who patted Lysa on the shoulder reassuringly. Wiping her eyes, Lysa slowly broke the embrace. "Has there been word of Edmure?" She asked heavily.

"As far as we know, he's with the Kingslayer's host," Robb replied. "bound west for Casterly Rock or south for King's Landing, we do not know,"

"I have gathered all of the knights of the Vale and their levies. Forty thousand men," Lysa bowed respectfully. "your Grace,"

"I am glad for it, my Lady," Robb's fingers found Roslin's. "And just in time for the wedding as well. Have you brought Lord Robert with you?"

"I had worried we would be too late. Sweetrobin is back at our camp, he felt a trite sick during the last leg of our journey,"

"Your Grace, I am reminded, there remains the matter of Walder Frey," the Blackfish said curtly.

"Now that the last available fish of Tully has joined us, I believe we can have our trial," Robb replied. "Is Lord Hoster well enough?"

"He hasn't long among us," the Blackfish said, stroking his goatee nervously. "But he has his wits today, yes,"

"I would visit him before we begin," Lysa said somberly. "There is much I would say to him while there is time,"

"Of course, the three of you should go to him," Robb said. "Theon, Olyvar, and I will see to our new friends of Vale,"

"I've given Lord Royce the command," Lysa said as her, Catelyn, and the Blackfish walked up the steps into the great hall. "He'll follow whatever orders you give him,"

"I knew your father for a time, your Grace," Bronze Yohn bowed, Robb had to avert his eyes to miss the reflection of the sun his armor gave off. "We fought at the Stoney Sept when Robert Baratheon needed a rescue from the Mad King's men. Lord Eddard was a man of honor, it would be every true knight of the Vale's pleasure to help you avenge him,"

"The honor is mine, Lord Royce," Robb replied. "Your pardon for a moment? There is the matter we discussed when we met under parley that I neglected when my aunt was here,"

"Lady Lysa gave me instructions concerning just that, your Grace," Lord Royce said quickly. "I am to take you to my Lady's tent and show you there," he eyed Roslin. "Perhaps it would be quicker if we traveled alone, you and I. You are more than welcome to bring your wolf, of course," he gave Grey Wind a scratch behind the ear.

"My lady betrothed and I have no secrets, my Lord," Robb said seriously. "Whatever we face, we face together," He gave her hand a squeeze which she resolutely returned.

Lord Royce gave a sigh. "Would only that my Lady had answered your call earlier, before my Ysilla married Lord Redfort's son. I would have been honored to have named you kin. Very well, your Grace, as you like,"

He soon barked orders to the other Lords, "Sentries to the west and patrols going down the Kingsroad, it won't do to have any surprises befall Riverrun on our watch. Take care that the men aren't idle and are being drilled diligently, we came to fight not to camp," Robb and Roslin followed Bronze Yohn out of the gates while Grey Wind padded ahead of them,

"Theon, Olyvar, come with us," Robb called.

"Greyjoy, is that?" Royce peered back as the group came under the shade of overbrush. "I'd heard Lord Stark had taken Balon's boys as a ward. A kraken amongst the wolves, most men would have froze up there in the cold with the Starks!"

"Well I had furs to keep me warm," Theon said, modest for once. "And they do a wonderful trick with the spouts with the castle's walls,"

Lord Royce stopped at what Robb guessed was Lysa's tent. Grey Wind's tail and nose went up and he gave long pulls from the air. Barking happily, the direwolf sprinted into the tent.

"Grey Wind! Here, boy!" Robb called. "What's gotten into him?" A girl's squeal came from inside the tent.

"What's the meaning of this, Lord Royce?" Roslin smiled cheekily. "Brought your daughter along to steal my Robb away from me anyway?"

Lord Royce laughed heartily. "Perhaps your Grace should go inside and see for himself," He pulled open the tent's flap. Still holding Roslin's hand, the pair went through.

Robb gasped. There before him, with Grey Wind on his hind legs licking her face, was a giggling Sansa Stark.

"Sansa!" Robb said, he let go of Roslin's hand and rushed to embrace her.

"Robb!" She returned his embrace. After many long moments, they broke apart.

"How? How have you- I mean how is this possible?" Robb stuttered. "Where is Arya? How did you escape? This is Roslin, by the way," He introduced Roslin and the two girls shook hands.

"I've heard so much about you," Roslin curtsied. "I'm Roslin Frey,"

"Forgive me," Sansa said, confusedly. "But how do you know my brother?"

"Sansa," Robb deadpanned, he had assumed that she would have heard. "We're betrothed, we're to be wed on the morrow,"

"Sisters!" Sansa clapped her hands together gleefully, "Oh this is a dream! You are lovely, Robb you have done _well_!"

"What's all the commotion in here?" a voice came from the flap. A bewildered Theon's head poked through. "Sansa!"

Sansa's eyes went large, "Theon!" The two rushed forward and hugged.

After breaking apart, Theon studied her face, "You've grown," He stroked her cheek, which he noticed many marks. "And you've been hurt,"

Robb pulled Sansa to him and noticed it too, "Joffrey," The name came out as a growl and Robb's gaze darkened. "His end will be much slower than a simple beheading,"

"I was brought to the Vale by Sandor Clegane," Sansa said. "Robb he's not a brute, he's actually a kind and decent man deep down. Well, _very_ deep down,"

"Where is he? I would thank him?" Robb said.

"I believe he went with a patrol of outriders when we arrived here, but he should be back around dusk," Sansa replied. "Oh, Robb, you're going to have a _wedding_! I could sing!" She gave a clap in happiness.

"You'll soon have the chance," Robb replied grinning. "To sing, for now, at least," He eyed Theon and pressed a finger to his lips.

"But come now, what of Arya?" Robb pressed.

Sansa's smile faded, "Arya's been missing since Father…"

Robb gave her shoulder a squeeze, "You were there? You were…. with him?"

A single tear rolled down Sansa's cheek as she nodded. "I plead with the King for mercy for him. I pleaded that he be allowed to be sent to the Wall with Jon. At least he would have his life, but…" She sniffed. "Robb, I denounced you and mother as traitors,"

Robb gave a smirk, "Well you're not much of a liar, then," he hugged his sister. "Come, Mother will want to see you. We should hide you, however. The less people see you right now, the better," He drew a cloak about her shoulders and placed the hood over her head.

"Lord Royce," Robb called. The Lord of Runestone stepped into the tent with Olyvar, who bowed. "I thank you for your discretion. We will go and see my mother now, and hold Walder Frey to trial,"

Lord Royce led them back into the castle's walls where they quickly made their way to Lord Hoster's solar. There a kneeling Lysa was clutching her father's hands and sobbing, while Lord Hoster gave consoling words with a peaceful smile on his lips. Catelyn and Ser Brynden stood over them, watching the pair with contentedness.

"Mother!" Sansa took off her hood, revealing her auburn locks and ran into the arms of her mother.

"_Sansa!_" Catelyn's eyes poured tears of relief as she squeezed her daughter around the waist. "Oh, my sweet daughter! How I have missed you!"

She lifted Sansa off of her feet and spun her in circles and the two laughed, Hoster and Brynden chuckling along with them in amazement.

"Sweet Sansa, did they hurt you terribly?" Catelyn had noticed the bruises and marks on her daughter's face and was checking for cuts about her arms, shoulders and neck.

"Joffrey is _not_ the kind boy I thought he was, Mother. I should have listened to Father, I should have listened to _you_," Catelyn wiped the tears at Sansa's cheeks.

"Oh, my dear, that is in the past. But where is Arya? Was she not with you?"

"Missing since Father's execution, any claim from the Iron Throne saying they've had both of us is a lie,"

"The bastards!" Hoster cursed.

"The City Watch has scoured the entire city and they haven't found her," Sansa continued. "I heard Sandor and Littlefinger talking about it before they took me away,"

"Littlefinger? Petyr helped you escape?" Hoster asked.

"He arranged Sandor and I escaping, yes," Sansa replied.

"Did the Hound show any sign of wrath? Won't he want vengeance for the Mountain?" Ser Brynden asked.

"Sandor hated his brother, nuncle. He's a changed man with the Mountain gone," Sansa insisted.

"We shall see," Catelyn replied neutrally.

"In the meantime," Hoster said. "I believe that it is time to call for Walder Frey's trial. Aside from those in this room, who else should be present?"

"Lord Stevron, naturally," Robb suggested. "Along with any Freys we suspect to be Lannister catspaws,"

"Olyvar and I should be there as well," Roslin added.

"Your Grace," Ser Brynden spoke up. "If I may, Walder Frey's crimes stand against House Tully. Do you think it proper to wield the sword? The sentence against him was passed in Lord Hoster's name, and after all you are no executioner,"

"We dreamed this plot together, you and I, Ser," Robb replied. "I bear as much of the responsibility as you,"

"You wed his daughter on the morrow, Robb," Catelyn pleaded. "His grandchildren will be your sons and daughters. I'm sure she doesn't want his blood on your hands,"

"Whoever passes the sentence, should swing the sword," Robb said sternly. "My father taught it to me since I was a boy,"

"Would that I had the love for my father you bore yours, my love," Roslin said to Robb, squeezing his hand. "Or you for yours, my Lady. But I cannot in truth say it matters to me which man takes off my father's head, only that for justice sake it must be done,"

Grey Wind barked in agreement.

"Walder Frey is a man who loves making children, but does not care to be a father," Olyvar piped up. "If a Frey were to end Walder, then our loyalty to Robb's cause could no longer be called into question,"

"Would you wield the blade yourself, Olyvar?" Robb asked. "Kinslaying is a dreadful crime, it is no secret,"

"Prove your loyalty in your deeds on the field and protecting Robb, young Frey," Hoster said. "Not by sullying my grandson's cause with kinslaying,"

"With the amount of our kin Ser Emmon has drawn to the Westerlands, it won't be the first or the last kinslaying we'll have to endure," Roslin replied.

"This is all for naught. I am not southern king bidding others do my beheading for me. I will take Walder's head," Robb looked tenderly to Roslin. "If our children look upon me with disdain, we will tell them that I couldn't bear the thought of bringing them into a world where such a man would dare call himself their grandfather. That I would do my duty rather than send another to do it for me,"

"That sounds like the final decree of our king," Hoster said proudly. "We had best heed his order. We've reached this decision in good timing, indeed. Your riders returned from King's Landing whilst you met with Lysa," Hoster gestured for Maester Vyman, who brought a long and thick parcel.

"It seems if there's to be a beheading, you'll need a good sword," Robb and Sansa unwrapped the packaging to find the wolf skin scabbard of his father's greatsword, Ice. Robb gasped in amazement, drew the blade and wielded it with both hands. It was heavy and big, made to take a head with a single swing. The blade shimmered and danced in the light.

"Starks have wielded that blade for over a thousand generations," Catelyn said. "I am glad to see it passed down to you, son. Maester Vyman, was there more?"

"Yes, my Lady. He waits in the rookery, we have no crypts here and I could not think of a more private place. Would you like me to take you to him?"

"After the trial, this must be done,"

Ser Brynden and Maester Vyman helped Hoster out of bed and into his clothes while the rest made their way out to the courtyard, Olyvar carrying Ice for Robb.

It didn't take long for a crowd together after Robb made the summons for his lords bannermen to assemble. Lord Robert was brought by two of the household guards of House Arryn, Robb noticed pale milk crusting at the corner of his lips just before Lysa wiped it away hurriedly with a wet cloth. She had protested his precense, but Catelyn had privately insisted. Bran was of an age with the young Lord Arryn and if he could witness an execution, so could Lord Robert. Besides the point, if the Tully, Arryn and Stark bannermen noticed the boy's absence it would only feed the rumors that he was in no fit state to rule. The Late Lord Walder Frey was half-dragged half-marched to the courtyard by Ser Patrek Mallister and Ser Marq Piper in chains and manacles. Lysa, Catelyn and the Blackfish all flanked Lord Hoster while Theon, Olyvar, Roslin and Stevron stayed close to Robb.

"Walder Frey you stand accused of ignoring the call of your liege, the result of which resulted in loss of life at the Golden Tooth and Ser Edmure's capture, as well as treating with our enemies, the Lannisters," Lord Hoster began. "You have barred your Crossing to Houses Stark and Tully only opening it after having the gall to exact a price from them and you have shown that you have continued acts of disloyalty to your liege by refusing to call back your son, Emmon. How do you plead?"

"I have also sworn an oath to the King on the Iron Throne, you traitorous old fool, Tully," Walder spat. "Tywin Lannister's sister is married to my son, Emmon, he is bound by honor to follow them to war and take his men as he sees fit,"

"He is bound to take his wife to the Twins, Frey," the Blackfish barked. "Not to be cowed by his own wife into treachery against his kin. And loyalty to your liege trumps loyalty to a king, unless the lands you are on are directly ruled by the king. Winterfell, for example, will always answer to Robb,"

"Tully get, you ought to be hanged for oath breaking!" Howled Walder. "I made a pact with the Starks through your niece and her son swindled me! I was betrayed by mine own son!"

"You were held attainted, Father," Lord Stevron replied sharply. "I did my duty as your heir to uphold our family's honor, rather what was left of it after your long reign. We are vassals to the _Tullys_, not the Iron Throne. Loyalty had nothing to do with it, you wanted whichever side would profit you most, you said so the night before we received Ser Edmure's summon!"

"Insolent bastard! Whoreson! You send me to the headsmen's block yourself!" Walder spat at Stevron's feet. "Of all the miserable bitches I could have fucked, it's no surprise you came from a Royce!"

There was an outcry from a section of the assembled knights from Runestone that had to be held back by Bronze Yohn, it was silenced when Robb raised a hand for quiet.

"Father," Catelyn said. "I will say that for a time after Robb's…. decision that I felt my word and honor had been sullied as I had bartered the contract that left Walder Frey vulnerable. I have seen since that this man has not only suggested no loyalty to House Tully nor our cause, but absolutely no respect to the honor of his House,"

"I agree, daughter," Hoster sighed. "Walder, I confirm my brother's sentence of you and hold your firstborn as Lord of the Crossing. I have known you many years, you have gone through wives like most men will go through tablecloths. Constantly and incessantly have you bred and bred and bred that you have given no thought to the consequences of your breeding. I will give you two choices in the name of our King Robb: Gelding and the Night's Watch or the headsman's block. Which will you have?"

Walder Frey stood finally, his lower twitching and his hand lowering to his groin. "Piss on Tullys. Piss on Starks," he looked defiantly at Robb. "Piss on your whore of a mother and your bitch of a wife. Strike true, boy,"

Robb had heard enough. He nodded to Olyvar who offered Ice handle first. Robb drew it out of its scabbard and walked closer to Walder Frey. He nodded to Ser Marq and Ser Patrek, who made the old man kneel. Olyvar produced a block and Robb pointed Ice tip down.

"I Robb, of House Stark, King in the North and King of the Trident and King of the Vale, by the word of Hoster of House Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident, sentence you to die," Robb raised Ice, bringing it down in a single glimmering arc through Walder's neck.

Blood squirted out of the open neck, and the sound of Walder's head hitting the ground and rolling towards Theon could be heard over the dead silence from the crowd. Theon stopped the head with his foot, picked it up and returned it to lay near the body.

The crowd soon dispersed. Robb looked over at Roslin, who had put her head on Olyvar's shoulder. Not a single tear was shed by either Frey. Robb nonetheless collected Ice's greatsword from Olyvar and made his way to the godswood. Roslin looked to start to follow, but Catelyn caught her shoulder.

"Not yet," she said shaking her head.

Robb had made it twenty paces before he was stopped. "A clean kill, your Grace," the cold voice of Roose Bolton drawled. "What would you have us do with his body?"

Robb turned and faced Lord Bolton. "Have the Freys not made motions to claim it?"

Bolton sneered, "I doubt the weasels would want anything to do with that carcass," he took a step closer to Robb, "You know I've taken one of Walder Frey's granddaughters to wife and his son Elmar as my squire. Young Elmar is betrothed to your sister, Arya, is he not?"

"Aye, when she is returned to us and comes of age, her and Elmar will wed," Robb replied.

"Elmar is so looking forward to it, already prancing about camp proudly boasting how he'll rescue his princess from the lions," Bolton gave what passed for a smile with him. "You know, I've spoken with some of the other lords. They have no love for all these marriage pacts we've made with the Freys. Traitorous ilk, they call them, and hardly any engagements have been made within the Northern Houses. You offered your own sister to that Greyjoy when I myself have a most kind and gentle son, baseborn though he may be. I'm sure Sansa would be much and more at home in the Dreadfort than Pyke,"

Robb grinned in return, watching Roose's sword hand out of the corner of his eye, "We need the Iron Fleet with us. And if the Freys were such traitorous ilk, why did you yourself marry one, Lord Bolton?"

"Walder Frey offered me my bride's weight in silver, so I chose the fattest of the lot,"

"And it would appear he hasn't seen you paid," Robb's smile widened. "I wonder what other promises he's made you,"

"Only that the dowry would be paid from the Lord of the Crossing... in time,"

"Then you had best take up your quarrel with Lord Stevron," Robb shrugged. "Now, if there's nothing else, Lord Bolton," Robb turned on his heel and marched the rest of the way to the godswood, where he found a nice bench and exhaled the shudder he had been holding back. There was no doubt in his mind now that Bolton would make a move, and soon. He would have to warn the others, but first tradition must be observed.

Robb poured cool water over Ice's blade, rinsing the fresh blood from it and wiping it away with a cloth. The creature named Walder Frey was at last gone forever. Robb never relished his killing, often doing what was necessary. _It was very necessary_, he told himself. _A man such as him cannot be allowed to rule under me, let alone live_. It wasn't the justness of the execution that worried him. Roslin didn't resent him for it now, but years from now, after the war ended and he took her home to Winterfell to raise their children? If Eddard Starks grandsons were born with Walder Frey's chin would Roslin still love him? Love had not yet blossomed between the two, Robb knew, but it bubbled and boiled beneath the surface waiting to erupt. The couple had scant spent more than a few hours apart since becoming betrothed, his mother had oft commented that her and his father hadn't had such a vibrant flow as he and Roslin when they had first met.

"Am I interrupting?" Roslin's voice brought him out of his reverie. "I hope you didn't come here to brood,"

"No," Robb said, forcing himself to grin. "My father always would go to our godswood and clean Ice after an execution. To keep it from rusting, you see,"

Roslin sat next to him. "You looked sad when I approached," she pushed.

Robb grimaced. "No secrets, my love. Please," She pleaded. "Not from each other,"

"I don't want you to hate me," Robb said somberly.

"I don't hate you,"

"I don't want you to _ever_ hate me, or resent me, for what happened today,"

"Impossible,"

"How? I just killed your father."

"I've wanted my father dead for most of my life," She said with a smile. "And though I know neither of us don't relish his death, there wasn't a single day we lived in the Twins that I didn't want to jump off of that damned bridge into the river and drown. Though I was thought too pretty to risk spoiling for potential suitors, that didn't stop Walder taking certain…._liberties_ with me and other daughters of his that went beyond that of a loving father,"

"That weasel," Robb growled.

"He's dead now, Robb," Roslin grasped his hand. "He's gone, it's in the past. I'm ready to move on, I want to be with you, I want us to keep each other safe. I want to have your children and I want you to be the father of my children. I want to be true to you and only you and I want vengeance for the wrongs done to your family and I want to start all of this as soon as possible," She kissed him full on the lips. It wasn't the chaste kisses that they gave each other in public when eyes judged dignity and grace. This was a kiss made of fire, powerful and fierce. It was seductive and inviting. Their hands danced across each other's bodies, his along her waist and back and hers on his chest and shoulders. Before he knew it she had taken his fur cloak off of him and laid it on the ground, laying herself on top of it and pulling him on top of her. Feverishly they undressed each other while continuing to plant warm kisses on each other.

"I had thought to honor you by waiting until our wedding night,"

"I don't think my father will feel slighted,"

Grey Wind gave a howl to the setting sun.

**A/N: Like the first chapter, some of the dialogue concerning the trial of Walder Frey comes from Rehblick's story Robb at the Crossing but most of it is my baby. The concluding scene feels a little cheesy and porno-ish, but it also feels kind of right. Roslin having issues with her father kind of, in my mind, creates this kind of rebellious noble lady kick for me. Also if the King of the North is going to pop his cherry, in my mind, what better place than a godswood? Still, if I read over it and I still feel it's' out of place, I might just go back later and rewrite it, so be on the watch for that. Next chapter, House Frey becomes joined to House Stark.**

**Preview**

The music played as everyone at the feast rose their glasses to King Robb and his Queen Roslin. Theon drank deeply and found Sansa's eye. She looked nothing like the girl he had last seen leave for King's Landing. She had become a woman in the capitol, not one of the whores he would give coin to for a brief moment of pleasure. Sansa had found the grace and power of a lady in the months she had spent under the bastard Joffrey's thumb. She smiled and returned his gaze and he found himself walking toward her, struggling to wipe the stupid grin off of his face. He held out his hand and asked her to dance. Her smile lit up the room and she said yes.


	8. In The Shade Of Heart Trees

The metal rim around Daryn's wooden shield caught Olyvar's sword, sending another ringing _clang_ throughout Riverrun's practice field. The heir to Hornwood sent his own blade in a wide arc towards Olyvar's ribs but was blocked by Olyvar's own shield bearing the blue sigil of the Twins. Olyvar grunted and thrust his sword towards Daryn's ribs but it was easily parried away.

"Come on, Frey," Daryn taunted boyishly. "I know you can do better than that," He ducked as Olyvar made a slash to his neck and caught his next blow on his blade.

Olyvar caught Daryn's next two blows, and the boys would have continued if not for Lord Karstark's voice booming over their audience's jeers, "That's enough, lads," The combatants stopped and caught their breath, which sprang from their bodies into the chilly autumn air like fog. "What's all this for?"

Daryn and Olyvar grinned at each other sheepishly and Daryn answered, "Just killing time, my Lord. We've been in Riverrun for near a week, are we to march soon?"

Lord Rickard shook his head and rolled his eyes, "Real steel will kill more than just time, Hornwood. Are you trying to lose your head before you can take my sweet Alys home to Hornwood?"

The encircled men of King Robb's guard barked in laughter, it was common knowledge that Rickard Karstark's daughter Alys was engaged to Daryn Hornwood. Before the North had marched south with Robb Stark Lord Karstark and Lady Hornwood had only been waiting for the girl to flower for the lords and ladies of the North to gather for Daryn and Alys' wedding. Eddard Stark had even been heard commenting how eager he had been to take his family to Hornwood for the wedding before word reached him that King Robert was riding from the capital. Flower, Alys had told Daryn in her letters, is exactly what she had been doing in recent months. Impeccable timing, he had thought as he replied, though their wedding would have to wait until after the war.

"I would lie if I said I didn't miss her, my Lord. I promised her I'd come back alive and whole," Hornwood replied.

"There was a rider from Karhold," Rickard gestured to a page and the boy returned with a maid pulling a black stallion toward Daryn. "Alys sent this from our stables as a gift to you. She hopes you'll ride back on it alive and whole, as you say, though I've half a mind to keep it for myself and give you a fine moose to ride into battle with the Young Wolf," The young woman took off her hood revealing long dark hair.

"Alys!" Daryn exclaimed, embracing his betrothed fervently. Alys Karstark laughed and planted a kiss warmly on his lips.

The boys crowed and fell about themselves, giving catcalls and jeers.

"I told her to come down for the wedding and perhaps accompany Torrhen back hom in the raven I sent home telling my wife and daughter about Green Fork," he said sadly with a deep sigh.

"My father died at Green Fork as well, my Lord," Lord Halys Hornwood had been found amongst the dead shortly after the battle, effectively making Daryn the new Lord of Hornwood. "I grieve with you,"

"And me as well, for my brother," Olyvar added.

"It breaks my heart to hear Torrhen's gone," Lady Alys spoke up somberly.

"I will do everything I can to make sure you and my boys make it through this war alive, Daryn. No father should have to bury his sons," Lord Rickard stonily declared.

Daryn placed a hand on his future goodfather's shoulder and Rickard returned the gesture and gestured for the three to walk with him.

"And you, Olyvar Frey," Lord Rickard regarded the young squire squarely. "I saw you fight at Green Fork, as well as others of your kin. You fought well,"

"Where are Harrion and Eddard?" Alys asked as they came to the castle's stables.

"On guard duty with Greyjoy and Norrey, keeping King Robb away from the preparations for the wedding, I believe their off on a hunt at the moment," the elder man sighed again. "The King will have his wedding in the middle of his war and you and Alys must wait until the end for yours," His disapproval was evident in his voice.

"We need the Freys, my Lord," Daryn replied. "Our King made a promise,"

"He made a promise to return to the Twins at the end of the war and take his bride, not hold up his entire host for a week while he courts some bonny lass," Lord Karstark grumbled. "Don't get me wrong, the Starks are our kin and the Young Wolf has more than proven his salt on the field but I'll be happy to have this war ended so I can get you home to Alys. Her sorrow over losing Torrhen was bad enough,"

"What's our next move?" Daryn asked as the two walked into the castle's great hall.

"There's too many open ears for us to discuss those plans in the open," a grim voice came from behind them. Daryn and Lord Karstark turned to see King Robb behind them flanked by Theon, Harrion, Eddard, Owen Norrey, and Olyvar. "My council is meeting in Lord Hoster's solar; I suggest we join them,"

Daryn and Lord Karstark followed the group up the stairs to Lord Hoster's bedchambers. Upon entering the room, Daryn noted that Lord Stevron, Lady Catelyn, and the Blackfish were already there waiting and that Lord Bolton was missing.

"My lords," Robb began, giving Grey Wind a pat on the head, "I know we share an eagerness to return to the field. These pageantries are something of an unfortunate necessity,"

"You've held up your army for days while the Lannisters regroup," Lord Karstark grumbled. "What have we done in those days since?"

"For starters," Robb brandished a sack in his hand. Reaching into it, he produced a tarred human head. "I've tarred the Mountain's head. I've sent a raven to the Martells of Dorne with news that justice for Elia Martell's children has been brought to Gregor Clegane at last and gods willing they will be amiable to an alliance with us,"

"The Martells have never been friends of the Tyrells nor the Baratheons," Lord Manderly murmured. "You would drive a wedge between two Houses for the sake of one,"

"I cannot claim to serve justice if I do not give justice to those who have been wronged," Robb replied coolly.

"The Martells will have heard that Tywin Lannister is our captive," Lord Cerwyn spoke up. "Should we attempt to ransom him to Dorne? He is as much to blame for the Targaryen childrens' death as Ser Gregor,"

"Sending him to Sunspear in chains would be sending him to the snake pit," Catelyn said. "It wouldn't be wise to give up our prize hostage while Arya's fate is still uncertain,"

"Tywin will remain our guest for now," Robb said, consulting the map carefully. "Tomorrow by midday we will begin marching west. I'm leaving the valemen here under the command of Lord Bronze Royce to bait the Kingslayer into crossing the Red Fork at Riverrun. Lord Royce," he spoke directly to the Lord of Runestone now. "I must be absolutely clear; you are not to engage the Kingslayer but do_ not_ throw his army back. Allow them to ford the Trident and chase us into the Westerlands, then _you_ will chase them and we will crush them together,"

"What of the new host at Oxcross?" Lord Karstark said.

"I'll be taking most of the horse on a hard ride there and fall upon them while they sleep," Robb replied. "I had hoped you might join me, Lord Karstark. The men of Karholds' skill at the saddle will be most welcome. Meanwhile the greater portion of our foot will march at the eastern flank, covering us from the Kingslayer's troops,"

"Two Lannisters captive, the Lannister seat without a host between itself and our forces, and a threat from the Martells in the south," Lord Umber nodded appreciatively, "Well, this was a nice, quick war anyway,"

"It 'isn't over until Arya is returned to us and I have Joffrey's head on a spike," Robb growled back. "And may not be over even then," He snatched a roll of parchment and threw it onto the map.

"Balon Greyjoy has sent its ships to war, as we had hoped," He gnashed his teeth viciously. "But not against Lannisport, but in an all-out invasion against the North,"

The air in the room seemed to hang still as Robb detailed the ironborn invasion, everything from Deepwood Motte down to Moat Cailin. Slowly but surely, the Karstarks, Daryn, and Owens' eyes all rose to Theon.

Lord Karstark snarled and drew his sword, immediately brandishing it towards Theon. Before the blade had cleared the sheath Olyvar had drawn his own blade and crossed it against Lord Karstark's, placing himself between Theon and the simmering Northerner.

"Ironborn boots on Northern soil? This is an outrage!" He spat furiously. "Our homes are now, threatened, your Grace, and this boy's kin are responsible! I fought Lord Balon for your father, my King; our word is _meaningless_ if we allow his son to live while Greyjoys pillage the North!"

Robb calmly stepped closer to the blades crossed between them, "Lord Balon has known these past ten years what would happen to Theon if he ever sought the Seastone Crown again. Their now shows me that they have no value for his life,"

"Or," Catelyn spoke quietly, "they think that we are bluffing. If they discover we have kept Theon alive after this, how much further will they wish to test us? Winterfell is not under siege yet, but that does not mean it isn't threatened,"

"Winterfell would outlast those leeches," Lord Stevron said, eyeing Olyvar's grim determination against the Northman's simmering fury.

"Lower your blade, my Lord;" Robb said icily to his bannerman, "Nobody is going to die tonight, not you, not Olyvar, and not Theon. We will keep this information a secret between only the people in this room,"

Karstark obeyed slowly, his gnarled knuckles still gripping the sword tightly, "A secret, your Grace?"

"Lord Rickard, I'd be lying if I were to say that he may not be the last boy to die in this war. But making Theon the next one won't bring him back. I share your thirst for vengeance, my Lord, with all my heart I do," Robb's tone had slightly warmed, but his stoic expression held. "I promise you that for Torrhen I will make a thousand Lannister corpses if that will bring you peace. Theon's death won't bring you peace,"

"Lord Karstark's won't be the only blade at my throat if more people find out about this," Theon gulped. "And it just so happens there'll be a whole wedding-full of Northerners leagues away from home and spoiling for a fight. How long exactly are you going to be able to keep the news from the North quiet? There'll be ravens and riders from every castle, fortress, village, and town asking for help and sounding the alarm,"

Robb gestured at the map, eyeing Westerlands closely, "When I get closer to the coast, perhaps at Banefort, I'll begin hiring sellsails and sellswords to sack Pyke. We will take the homes of our enemies away from them,"

The door opened quietly and Lord Roose slipped into the room. "Your pardon, your Grace, I was held up. I have no excuse,"

The crease of Robb's brow furrowed for only a split second before he recovered with ease, "Lord Bolton, no harm done. I was simply going over the marching order for our journey to Harrenhal. Soon we will lay siege to the Kingslayer and be one step closer to marching on the capital,"

Lord Roose nodded almost unnoticeably, "Very good, your Grace. Another lion locked away or killed will do nothing to hurt our cause,"

"I'll be leaving you behind to hold Riverrun with a token force while I march south east with the rest of our forces," Robb and Roose's eyes danced against each other, cold lifeless and pale against ice determination. "I have nothing but faith and trust in you, Lord Bolton. I know my mother's family's seat is in good hands,"

Bolton bowed, "I am honored, your Grace. Of course I would have hoped to fight by your side at Harrenhal. So many times I can recall having done so with your lord father, I feel_ almost_ honor bound to protect you from harm,"

"As would I, Lord Bolton. But as I told those gathered, the war will be all but won with this last Lannister host being defeated," Robb replied candidly. "And the person I leave in charge of Riverrun will have to be among my most leal of bannermen,"

"I am honored by the gesture, my King," Bolton said.

"Well then, my Lords, I would say that is all of our business," Robb said with a grin. "The ceremony draws near, I hope you've all found a good bit of soil to stand on," Dismissing everyone, Robb held back Olyvar, Daryn and Theon with but a glance.

"What was the meaning of all that?" Theon asked. "You just sat there and told all of us one thing, and then Lord Bolton shows up and you completely alter the battle plan!"

"He's smoking out the rat in our camp," Olyvar replied. "His Grace fed Lord Bolton a false battle plan hoping that he'll pass it along to whoever he's talking to in the Lannister camp,"

"Whoever that is will believe that His Grace is marching in full force to Harrenhal," Daryn nodded. "and that they have an ally in the castle of Riverrun. Your Grace, won't that embolden them to storm the castle?"

"Lord Royce has orders to remain on the eastern bank of the Red Fork, on the far side of the castle and out of sight of the Kingslayer," Robb said. "With luck, they'll remain undetected and Ser Jaime will march west, still expecting the whole of our army to have met him leagues behind him,"

"Ser Jaime will then give chase, and Lord Royce will sneak up from behind," Theon nodded. "But how will we know that Lord Bolton has been leaking information? Couldn't it just be coincidence?"

"Lord Bolton is the only man that should be confused about the battle plan when the battle finally happens. If we win, Bolton is the turncloak. If Bolton is the turncloak, we win," Robb said. "I've had word from Lord Stevron that Emmon Frey has not responded to his ravens. I can only surmise that he has gone over to the Lannisters. I'll have Olyvar and few of my guard remain watchful of Lord Bolton during the ceremony for any attempt at treachery,"

The autumn snows had fallen for days on the castle of Riverrun and had formed deep drifts round the heart tree. The assembled lords and ladies of the King in the North's host fastened their cloaks and shawls about their shoulders. On the left of the aisle, most of House Frey had gathered while Olyvar, Perwyn, and Roslin's nieces at the front of the Frey portion of the crowd gathered before the heart tree. Across the aisle the combined Houses of the North, the Vale of Arryn, and the Riverlands stood with Theon, Catelyn, Sansa, who held the cloak of House Stark in her arms.

Roslin arrived on the arm of Lord Stevron and walked slowly down the aisle, the cloak of Frey billowing behind her in the slight breeze. Robb accepted the cloak from Sansa as the two Freys slowed to a stop facing parallel against Robb.

"Who comes?" Robb said. "Who comes before the heart tree this day?"

"Roslin of House Frey comes," Lord Stevron placed his hands comfortingly on Roslin's shoulders. "Flowered and grown, trueborn and noble, Roslin comes to seek the blessings of the heart tree. Who claims her?"

Robb took a deep breath and said the words, "Robb Stark, King of the North, Riverlands and the Vale. Who gives Roslin away?"

"Stevron Frey, Lord of the Twins, her oldest brother. Roslin, would you take this man?"

Roslin smiled and said, "With all my heart," Lord Frey clasped their hands together and stepped away.

Robb led them to the heart tree where they both kneeled and then rose again after a few moments of murmured prayer. The two faced each other and Robb undid the fasteners that kept the silver-grey wool cloak at Roslin's shoulders. The cloak fell to the floor and Robb fastened the white cloak of the Starks around his bride's shoulders. They faced the crowd which soon erupted into cheer as Robb swept Roslin's legs from under her and carried her down the aisle while the bards began to sing "Two Hearts Beat As One"

He carried her back into the great hall followed by their subjects and family where the feast had been laid out. A glorious spread fit to feed all the occupants, remnants from Edmure Tully's mass foraging and gathering expedition that had kept the food stores full during the Kingslayer's siege. Everyone found their seats around the King and Queen and music was played and soon dancing started. Robb and Roslin led the dancing off as the first pair on the dance floor. They danced in a slow and graceful manner and soon they had switched off taking turns with other partners; Robb with Catelyn and Roslin with Lord Stevron.

Other couples formed around them, popping up like daisies. Olyvar twirled Wynafryd Manderly slowly around, Daryn and Alys soon followed and hundreds more joined. The music played as everyone at the feast rose their glasses to King Robb and his Queen Roslin. Theon quietly smirked and sipped his ale, sitting comfortably in his seat at the high table. Across on the opposite side of the dais, he caught Sansa's eye. She looked nothing like the girl he had last seen leave for King's Landing. She had become a woman in the capital, not one of the whores he would give coin to for a brief moment of pleasure. Sansa had found the grace and power of a lady in the months she had spent under the bastard Joffrey's thumb. She smiled and returned his gaze and he found himself walking toward her, struggling to wipe the stupid grin off of his face. Another sip and he found himself on his feet walking toward her. He held out his hand and asked her to dance. Her smile lit up the room and she said yes.

Soon there were cries for the bedding to commence and Robb found himself surrounded by women of all ages, giggling and joking as they hoisted him to their shoulders. Chuckling and playing along, Robb glanced over to see Roslin receive a similar treatment from the lords, knights and squires present. Soon both Robb and Roslins' clothes were being discarded as the pair were carried up the stairs to the master bedroom and thrown in naked and blushing.

Theon soon made his way with the rest of the crowd back to the feast and the festivities continued with Sansa and him sharing another dance.

_Maintain, Greyjoy,_ he thought to himself as he turned down a passing squire's cup, _remember that Robb is relying on you to keep a watchful eye_.

It then occurred to Theon that he hadn't seen Lord Bolton throughout the night. He peeled his eyes but still couldn't make out the cold form of the Leech Lord. He made eye contact with Olyvar who shrugged, apparently he hadn't seen him either.

He hadn't seen him at all, until suddenly he did.

The lord of the Dreadfort stood next to Robb's chair, one foot on its seat as if to lean on it. He pushed himself to stand a top and raised his voice,

"My lords," the din of the feast roared above his quiet murmur. Bolton's nostrils flared and took an empty goblet and banged it on the table repeatedly. "_MY LORDS!_"

The crowd quieted and all eyes turned to him. "I have just received word from my son at the Dreadfort. It pains me to be the one to bring this news to you all, but my fellow Northmen must know. The Iron Fleet has sailed from Pyke and launched an invasion of the North," Cries of outrage and indignation erupted from the crowd, "They have struck at Deepwood Motte, Moat Cailin, and have landed on the Stony Shore near Flint's Fingers. The entire western coast of the North will soon bow to the kraken," Cries of outrage became furious roars of bloodlust, the happy wedding feast had become whipped into a frenzy in a matter of mere moments. "I call for Eddard Stark's promise to Balon Greyjoy to be fulfilled, I call for the life of Theon Greyjoy,"

Theon was ripped from Sansa's arms, two pairs of strong grips at his shoulders and forearms.

"Lord Bolton," Galbart Glover said, seemingly the only calm one in the room beside Roose Bolton. "Theon Greyjoy is not your ward, nor your responsibility. His life is not yours to end,"

Sansa furiously joined in, "I've known Theon my entire life, my lord. My brother, your King, would be furious to learn Theon died at the wedding. The memory of this day would be marred for all time,"

"The Greyjoys have broken their word, my lady-"

"_Your Grace_, my lord," Sansa sternly reminded. "I am the sister of your King,"

"And Theon is now the son of our enemies, _your Grace_," Lord Bolton shot back.

"Theon didn't have any part in the assault on my seat," Glover replied heatedly. "My wife and children are likely hostages, but you don't see me with a dagger to his throat,"

"If the Greyjoys hear that Theon still lives comfortably among us, our King's word will never be respected again," Lord Bolton hissed. Bolton men at arms slowly gathered behind him, hands on the hilts of their swords. "It is our King's will that Theon pay for his family's treachery with his head,"

"You speak for the Young Wolf now, Bolton?" Lord Hoster barked from his chair. "King Robb looks to Greyjoy as a brother, when exactly do you think he'll be bringing him to the headsman's block?"

"Glover may not hold Theon responsible," Lord Flint spoke up. "But my kin have been dealing with the pillagers from the Iron Islands for years. I call for justice," Flint men gathered and moved closer to the Boltons, men from the Ryswells and Dustins joined them.

"Men of the North!" Catelyn shouted. "I am the mother of your King and I order you to stand down! Theon's fate lies in the hands of King Robb and no other!" She looked mournfully at Theon. "He will be placed under arrest until His Grace can hold judgment on him,"

"He will be placed in the dungeons?" Sansa had tears in her eyes. "Theon hasn't done anything wrong!"

"Sansa," Theon murmured. "I don't see this argument going our way. I'll go willingly,"

Iron shackles closed around Theon's offered wrists and he was marched out of the feast followed closely by Sansa.

"Robb will fix this, Theon, he'll stop this madness," Sansa sobbed. "You'll be out of there by tomorrow. Lord Bolton doesn't have the power to order your execution,"

"I hope you're right," Theon's face had gone pale and all of his old arrogance was gone as the guards led him out into the open night air.

Sansa walked back into the main hall where a wide space had opened between Lord Bolton and Catelyn.

"By what right," Catelyn seethed. "Do you condemn a member of my household to death?"

"Theon's value as a hostage is worthless if his family takes up arms against us," Lord Bolton coldly replied. "Every hour he remains alive now weakens our resolve in the eyes of our enemies. Our enemies will continue to test us if they see we do not keep our word,"

"I, too, am a mother, Lady Stark," Barbarey Dustin said from beside Lord Bolton. "But Theon's family must answer for their crimes,"

"To execute Theon without King Robb's leave is treason," Catelyn shot back. "He'll already be furious that you've treated his sister's betrothed such,"

"We will not win this war if King Robb takes lessons in strategy from his mother," Lord Bolton sneered.

"Insult my liege lady again, Lord Bolton," Lord Glover said venomously. "And I won't need a King's word to know whose head should be on the block,"

Furious shouts were thrown back and forth. Catelyn had to motion for the Greatjon to restrain the men at arms from her side from going over and challenging those who had sided with Bolton. Furious shouts that covered the din outside of two separate breaches in the perimeter. Bellows of outrage and anger covered the fifty men led by Asha Greyjoy making their way over the walls of the castle. The five hundred ironmen had landed quietly in Ironman's Bay and hiked the distance through the wilderness of the Riverlands. Asha's remaining men had stayed behind so Asha's team could remain undetected.

The second team brought Jaime Lannister, Bronn, Cleos Frey and dozen more. The men accompanying the Kingslayer wore armor that covered up the sigil of House Frey, men who joined Jaime's uncle Ser Emmon Frey before Robb Stark had come to the Twins at the start of the war. The Kingslayer hard rode at full speed throughout the last two days from the Kingsroad and through the wilderness, brazenly charging to save Lord Tywin and the Imp.

Two groups converging on Riverrun, both with one same destination, while the Young Wolf's host stands ready to turn on itself. All the while Lord Bolton stands. His lifeless pale eyes calculating, watching, waiting, and never blinking. They weren't surprised or apologetic. Lord Bolton's lip gave the smallest of twitches, the tiniest indication of a smile. Any man taking note would say that it looked as if Lord Bolton had no displeasure or surprise at the chaos surrounding him.

**A/N Sorry this took so long! I'm trying to be better about updating, I can tell you that this chapter technically has two parts, one being the wedding and the next being the immediate events that follow. I hope you enjoy and I'll do my best to update soon! Please leave reviews! Or if you're shy just send me a private message saying what you think about the story so far! I hope to hear from readers and constructive criticism is very much welcome!**


	9. The Raid of Riverrun

Robb and Roslin stood naked in the room, the jeers and laughs of their friends and family could still be heard through the heavy oak door that separated the master bedroom from the rest of the castle. Roslin coyly turned and smiled at Robb before walking slowly making her way to the bed. Discarding several unnecessary pillows and covering the lower part of her body in blankets, she seductively patted the space on the bed next to her, "Care to join me, my King?" Robb grinned and made his way to the bed. "Would you mind grabbing the wine on your way over, my love?" She added, producing two goblets from the end table.

Robb did so and poured small amounts into both crystal chalices. Setting the bottle aside, he clinked glasses with his bride and both emptied their goblets in one go. Neither wasted no time after that, Roslin's fingers ran through his hair and pulled him on top of her and into a hungry kiss which he feverishly returned. His hands went to her breast and hip, sliding his tongue across hers caressingly. His lips went to her jawline, neck, and collarbone while her tongue found his earlobe. They kissed passionately and before long they both became aware of the others' signs of eagerness.

Wrapping her legs around his waist and placing her hands gently on his buttocks, she gave a soft gasp as Robb thrust into her. Robb's movements were slow and thoughtful at first and became more heated and intense as Roslin's moans and gasps indicated her approval. An eternity passed and the young couple was lost in ecstasy and euphoria, utterly swaddled in the cocoon of their pleasure. Nothing in the outside world beyond the walls of their room mattered and both allowed themselves to believe that they were only young and in love without the weight of their responsibilities.

Robb allowed himself to forget about the ironmen invading his home, about Joffrey, about the impending invasion by his own army into the Westerlands. Looking down to see his bride's face flushed with pleasure, he found her soon meeting his eye. Ignoring any impulse to look away, the pair held the gaze while grinding and thrusting against each other. Absorbed in her brown orbs, Robb found himself feeling more vulnerable than he ever had facing any foe on the battlefield. He had killed dozens of men over time. His first kill had been at the Green Fork, a Westerling knight who looked twice Robb's age. He had looked into the knight's eyes as he had pulled the blade of his sword out of the man's chest. Not any kill since had made him feel as singularly revealed and vulnerable as Roslin was doing now.

He felt her muscles clench and tighten on his manhood and knew that he had brought her to climax, yet as she gently let her nails dig into his back he maintained the rhythm of his movements. Her moans and gasps quickly became cries of ecstasy and soon he felt the sheets soak from the sudden gush of her juices again. Before long his own moment of pleasure came and he spilled his seed with reckless abandon into her body.

Robb collapsed onto her, the sweat from both their bodies slipping their flesh against each other. Roslin gave him gentle kisses along his cheeks and lips and Robb rolled off her and onto his back next to her. Both panting from the exertion, Roslin snuggled into him, resting her head on his chest and draping her thigh across his lap. "Well done, my love," she whispered.

Another glass of wine and a bout of lovemaking later, sleep found the King and Queen at last. Slumber hadn't found Robb's mind long before he found himself looking through the eyes of Grey Wind. The wolf was prowling through the thick foliage of the Riverlands with the large pack of his smaller cousins again. They numbered well over a hundred by now. He followed his nose until he found the familiar one, his littermate, Nymeria. She had grown as big as him, her shoulders and haunches thickening with sinewy muscle. Her snout was flecked with bits of gore and droplets of blood, a fresh kill. She met Grey Wind's gaze, her yellow eyes locking on to his own. Her head gave the faintest of motioning, a gesture that he should follow her. The pair left the pack behind, padding off closer to the river bank where he realized what she had wanted to show him.

The small company of men would have been successful in remaining undetected had their trackers been human. The stink of them made Robb wonder how he could have gone so long not noticing it, and it sounded as if they were determined to step on every twig and branch that came before them. Theirs was the flowery stench of the south. Grey Wind bared his fangs and reared back, ready to pounce on them. Nymeria's throat uttered a low growl, more of a gesture of patience than a warning. They stealthily followed them, stalking the dozen or so men upriver until they reached a large castle. Grey Wind recognized it as Riverrun, but he could feel Nymeria's uncertainty.

The wolves watched as the men scaled the walls using hooks and rope, the cover of darkness concealing them. Grey Wind's eyes made out the flurry of yellow hair among one of them and gestured for Nymeria to follow him to the gate. The sentry gave the two direwolves an odd look, "King Robb let you out for his wedding, eh? And you've found a friend, looks like he won't be the only one doing a bit of bedding tonight. Go on then," He let the pair pass and Grey Wind motioned for Nymeria to stay with the sentry as he ran to where he had seen the men climb over.

He found them soon enough, keeping enough distance to remain undetected. Grey Wind recognized the path they were taking well enough, he had guided his master's squire there only days beforehand. They were making their way to the dungeons. Grey Wind reached deep from within his belly and let a low howl escape his throat. The men stopped in their tracks, only a few paces from the dungeon's door, and turned to see the lone direwolf sitting on his hind legs amiably. Nymeria's reply made their heads turn in towards its origin.

"It's that damned wolf of Stark's," one of the men growled. "Why isn't he attacking us? I've heard it can rip a man's throat out in the blink of an eye,"

"Let's not stick around to find out," replied another. The group continued on its way, smashing the padlock on the dungeon's door and made their way inside.

"Mangy beast!" A cry came from behind Grey Wind. He turned his head to see the sentry from the gate being pulled by Nymeria, the cuff of his tunic between her jaws. "You'll wake the dead if you carry on howling like that,"

Grey Wind made his way to the door and began ferociously barking and pawing at the door.

"Oh what is it now?" the sentry reluctantly allowed Nymeria to pull him closer to the door where he saw the broken padlock. "What the…. ALARM! INTRUDERS IN THE PERIMETER! THEY'RE TRYING TO FREE TYWIN LANNISTER!" He sprinted to the wall and rang the sentry bell. The ringing of the bell was soon echoed at other nearby sentry posts. Grey Wind could hear the guards rally and begin to run en masse to the dungeon. The two direwolves raised their noses to the sky and howled to the stars. The pack answered this time, closer than when Grey Wind and Nymeria had left them by a league.

The guards rushed past them and, at the guidance of the first sentry, surrounded the dungeon and sealed off every entrance and exit into the building.

"Should we wake King Robb?" one nearby guard asked the other.

"Bad luck to disturb any man during his first bedding, let alone the King in the North," came the reply.

"Surely _someone_ should let the people in that castle know that we're under attack?"

"It can't be more than a dozen or two of them and they were all nice enough to save us the trouble of throwing them in the dungeon. What exactly is the cause to interrupt King Robb mid-fuck?" another guard snarled.

"Fire!" came a cry. The company of guards turned almost in unison to see the nearby battlements ablaze.

The captain of the guards spoke up, "Half of you with me, we need to put that out before it spreads! Rem, go find Lord Umber and raise the alarm!"

Another scent found its way to Grey Wind, the breeze carrying it from the northern wall of the castle. Fainter than the scent the southerners had brought with them, but pungent enough to make up for it. It was unfamiliar to Grey Wind, looking over to Nymeria he could tell it confused her as well. It smelt of salt and iron.

The men sprinted off to follow the captain's orders while the direwolves padded off to the northern wall. The camps surrounding the castle had stirred themselves since the general alarm had been raised and men at arms could be seen moving to the dungeon in support of the guards. Orders were shouted across the camps and horses could be heard neighing in protest of the inferno.

* * *

Asha's feet hit the grassy ground softly as she went up and over the walls surrounding Riverrun. She quietly waited as the dozen or so ironborn raiders under her command did the same, each one quietly repelling off of the stone walls that went at least thirty feet high. She took a brief moment to look at the sky. The red comet made a blood streak across the black flesh of the night's sky. The air smelled different each place she went to. Raised on Pyke, she was used to the salty smell of the sea carrying every which way across the Iron Islands. Here on the mainland, particularly in the Riverlands it seemed, the air hung closer to the ground in a moist swamplike humidity. In the North at Deepwood Motte the air was crisp and frigid, stinging and biting in her chest as she ran in the snow.

Snapping herself out of her reverie, she signaled her men to follow her and began a quiet trot away from the wall. If she had remembered her lessons correctly, the dungeons weren't far. By now news from Winterfell about the ironborn's invasion had to have reached the Young Wolf and if it had the dungeons would be the correct place to look for Theon, or the headsman's block. They took cover behind a livery as they heard voices of some Mallister men at arms make their away from her.

She looked over at the southern wall that ran perpendicular to the one they had just climbed over. Pointing at the battlements of the wall, she nodded at Lorren Longaxe and Droopeye Dale. Returning the nod, the pair ran towards the wooden structure with Longaxe slinging the sack of supplies over his shoulder. The sack, Asha knew carried the necessary tools to light a fire, a suitable distraction.

The team waited for the two to get back and for the blaze to reach sufficient size and then the cries from the nearby guards soon followed. Asha led her men into a trot past several more guards and found the dungeon. Easy enough to find, the only building in the camp that had guards in a semicircle, half surrounding the building. She could thank her distraction for creating such an elegant gap in the defenses and quietly led her team into the door.

The architecture of the interior reminded Asha of the scales of a fish, she snorted in derision. Tullys thought way too highly of their sigil, in her opinion. She followed the hall until it came to a fork. _No time to sit and wonder all night, they'll have that fire out soon,_ she thought, recklessly choosing the path on the left. The hallway continued until it came to a heavy iron door with two guards posted in front of it. Quickly dispatched, Asha grabbed the keys off of one of the corpses and used them to open the door. _Hold on, little brother._ The door swung open at the turn of the knob and Asha stepped in.

Only one cell was occupied and, Asha realized regretfully, it wasn't by Theon.

"I suppose you'll have an escape plan as elegant as your entrance," the old man occupying the cell growled haughtily. Asha could tell this man was highborn, such was the commanding tone of his voice. Everything about the man suggested that he had grown accustomed to having his way, from the dominating look in his eyes to his posture. Chained and manacled, this man's pose could not have suggested any less that he was a captive.

"What is your name?" Asha demanded.

The man's eyes squinted annoyingly, "Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock,"

Asha chuckled. "Pleased to meet you, I'm the Maid herself. Do you know where they're keeping Theon Greyjoy?"

The old man pursed his lips, "It would not be wise to mock me, girl. It would be less wise even than to ignore an opportunity such as one that stands before you now. Should you release me and take me with you, I will make you and your family rich beyond your wildest dreams,"

"Lady Asha, I think he's telling the truth," Cromm whispered from behind her.

"Asha Greyjoy?" Tywin repeated. "Your father is Lord Balon of the Iron Islands?"

"Well done, my lord. You've figured out that mystery just from hearing my first name?" Asha crowed. "Now tell me where my brother is,"

"Free me and I'll tell you,"

"Tell me and and I'll free you." Asha retorted.

Tywin's nostrils flared. "To my knowledge, Theon Greyjoy is not a captive in these dungeons. Though by your being here, I can gather that you think his life may be in danger. Tell me, what news of Pyke?"

"You've been in this cell quite awhile, Lord Tywin," Asha said, moving closer to the cell. "My father has ordered the Iron Fleet to war against the Starks. We have pillaged and reaped along most of the western coast of the North. Deepwood Motte and Moat Cailin have fallen with Flint's Fingers and Torrhen's Square soon to follow,"

"I believe we had an arrangement," Tywin nodded his head in the direction of the lock. Asha sighed and nodded agreeably. Putting the key in the lock and turning, the door gave way and Asha gave likewise treatment to Lord Tywin's shackles.

"You have the thanks of Casterly Rock, my lady," Tywin rubbed his chaffed wrists. "Now, you have invaded the North while my son marches against the Young Wolf here in the south. We have a common enemy and you have freed me, a Lannister always pays his debts. Would you consent to an alliance between our Houses?"

"This isn't quite the time nor the place, Lord Tywin," Asha replied. "I'm here to free my brother before his head ends up on a spike, not talk politics with an old lion who's gotten his tail nipped by the wolves,"

There was a great commotion from outside the door and Asha motioned for her men to brace it shut. Three of her men put their shoulders against it as shouts came from the other side demanding entrance. "Father!" came a cry. "Father are you in there? Lorch, take off the hinges,"

"Who is that?" Asha asked Tywin, who's eyes smiled but his lips didn't.

"_My_ rescue plan," came the answer.

The door gave and Asha's men were pushed back a dozen or more shoulders pushed them on their backs. Swords were drawn immediately by both groups.

"Father!" a blonde man leading them bellowed. "Father, have you been hurt?"

"Lady Asha, meet my son, Ser Jaime Lannister. Jaime, it would seem you've gone and gotten yourself a hostage," Tywin gestured to the youth Jaime was clutching by the throat.

"Theon!" Asha cried. She hadn't seen him since he was a boy, but there were certain things that stood out. The cheekbones, the eyes, hair, jawline, each he had gotten from a different Greyjoy male that she knew.

It took him a moment or two, but Theon put the pieces together. "…sister? Asha? What are you doing here?"

"I knew father's plan would cost you your head and I wasn't willing to pay that particular iron price," she explained.

"This is, it would seem, a pair of happy family reunions," Jaime, who still hadn't lowered his sword or released his grip on Theon, spat, "but if you don't hand over my father, I'm going to open your brother's throat and see if his blood _really_ is salt and stone as all you Greyjoys seem happy to claim,"

"Jaime, you only _just_ interrupted us in the middle of making common cause with the Iron Islands," Tywin roared. "You won't be opening anyone's _throat_,"

"Touch him," Asha simmered. "And you'll find out how fast our ships can sail from the North to Casterly Rock,"

"Enough!" Tywin said. "Lord Bolton won't be able to keep the wedding guests busy for long,"

"Lord Bolton?" Theon said. "Lord Bolton is _your _man?"

"The only Northman in Westeros with any sense in his head," Jaime sneered.

"Every man has his price," Tywin said. "Now, let's not sit here chatting in this dungeon, we need to get out of here,"

"Fine," Asha said. "Us first," she clutched Tywin and the men on Ser Jaime's side bellowed in protest. "We all get out of here, and then we switch later. That's how this will work,"

"Do as she says, Jaime," Tywin said. "The important thing right now is that we escape,"

Gnashing his teeth, Jaime lowered his sword and cleared a way out for Asha and Tywin to exit the dungeon. Another round of commotion came as the door to the dungeon was soon flooded with guards.

"The Kingslayer! They're in here!" The guards drew their blades and it began.

Jaime and Asha both gnashed their teeth pushed Tywin and Theon back into the dungeon. Asha's ironmen joined Jaime's men in battle against the guards. Asha had never seen anyone move like Jaime, cleaving his way through the Northmen while maintaining a dancer's grace. Asha favored a more brutal approach with a double-sided axe and shield, hacking and slashing her way through foe after foe.

"Kingslayer," one of Jaime's men whispered. "We have to get out of here or we'll be overrun soon,"

"Not without my father," Asha heard the stubborn reply as Jaime ducked a sideswipe from the longsword of a guard. "We're not leaving here empty handed,"

Asha caught mace on her shield and sank her axe into the forehead of her opponent.

"I came here for Tyrion, Ser Jaime," the man shot back.

"Whatever Tyrion promised you, my father is more than capable of delivering on, Bronn" the Kingslayer grunted as drove his sword through a man's chest.

"Well that's not really the point," the man called Bronn answered. "It's really the principle of the matter,"

"You're a sellsword, what principle do you hold dear exactly?" came the shout of a man bearing the twin towers and bridge of House Frey.

"Customer satisfaction,"

On the battle went, few of their own fell, but each enemy Asha and Jaime killed seemed to be replaced by two more.

"We can't keep this up," the Kingslayer finally admitted, eyeing Asha angrily.

"I'm open to ideas," Asha retorted, dodging a sword.

"I have one," the sellsword Bronn said, snatching a large bag that Jaime had tucked into his belt. "I don't reckon the Young Wolf pays his men as well as you pay yours, ser,"

Tossing the bag just a sword's length away from him, Bronn's sword tip sank into the material of the bag cuttinging a good sized hole into it.

Gold dragons spilled out over the guards' heads as the contents of the bag were emptied. Only for a brief moment in time, the guards' focus was drawn away from the battle and to the shiny gold coins dancing in the light of the nearby torches. Several even stopped fighting all together to scramble to pick them up.

"Longaxe, the oil!" Asha cried. The man instantly knew what she was talking about and reached into his sack, producing the jar of the same oil that had engulfed the battlements in flames and handed it to Asha. Yanking the cork out, Asha grabbed the jar by its bottom and let unstopped oil run over the greedy and foolish guards.

Jaime grabbed a nearby torch and threw it onto the poor souls that hadn't leapt out of the way. The smell of burning flesh instantly filled the air alongside the cries of the immolating men as the blaze leapt forth from the ground. The heat of the inferno took Asha aback and she dropped the oil in the arch of the doorway, setting the entrance to the room ablaze and separating Tywin and Theon from the others by a wall of fire.

"Now!" Bronn cried as he led a few men through the fire.

"Jaime, go!" Tywin roared from behind archway, covering his face from the heat. "You'll have to beat them in the field, you'll never make it with all of us,"

"Asha!" Theon cried.

"Theon!" Asha reached for his outstretched hand but felt something pull her away from him. It was the Kingslayer roughly pulling her by the waist through the flames.

"Ser Jaime!" cried two or three of the poor fools not quick enough to follow. "Ser Jaime, please wait for us!" But the guards who had avoided the flames had finished their scramble and raised their weapons. The abandoned men dropped their weapons and raised their hands in surrender as Asha tasted cold air and passed under the archway.

Smoke coughed its way out of her lungs and was rubbed out of her eyes. "_What_ was the point of that?" she choked out to Jaime. "Neither of us got what we wanted!"

"No," Jaime patted the soot off of his clothes. "But if we don't get out of here now, neither of us will ever see home again,"

Realizing it was better to keep moving than to argue, Asha gathered her remaining men and followed the Kingslayer's away from the dungeon.

"Y'know I was just going to leap over them while they scrambled for the money," Bronn said. "It didn't really occur to me to light the poor bastards on _fire_. Are you sure you haven't converted to that red god I've been hearin' so much about over from across the Narrow Sea, Kingslayer?"

"I did what I had to do," came the reply. The company soon found themselves at the outer perimeter. "Now, do you lot still have your grappling hooks?"

"We do," Asha said. "Why should we help you though?"

"We saved your lives, you owe us a debt," Jaime insisted. "And my uncle Kevan is on the Kingsroad with the rest of my army. I'm sure between him and I we can send gold from Casterly Rock to Pyke. Plus unless you produce that rope, I don't see any of us getting out of here,"

Sighing, Asha nodded and gestured for Cromm to get the rope. Soon the company had made it over the wall.

"My brother is a dead man," Asha said after they had made the climb and the jump back onto the other side of the wall.

"Robb Stark won't kill him," the Kingslayer replied as they ran to the treeline. "He's much too soft,"

As she heard the guards shout for the gates to open and their bloodhounds barking, Asha hoped he was right. She hadn't accomplished her mission but, she was reminded as she ran with Lord Tywin Lannister's son at her side, perhaps her father wouldn't be displeased about the outcome.

**A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter, READ AND REVIEW and PLEASE don't be shy about them! Hopefully lengthier input is out there than "Lol nice chapter," I want to know WHY you think it's a nice chapter, what you liked and didn't like, ways you think it could have been better and what you think/hope will happen in future chapters! **


	10. Different Shades of Red

Words of outrage threatened to escalate into fights in choice areas of the great hall where the Northmen squared against their own. Tallhart men at arms stood nose to nose with their Glover neighbors spewing challenges, the only Northern House on the western coast not rallied to Lord Bolton's side. A meaningful glance from Catelyn to Olyvar told him that the time had come to grab Robb and the young squire made for the door, only to find it guarded by a Bolton man at arms.

"Stand aside, ser," Olyvar demanded. "I mean to bring our King here to end this madness,"

"I have my orders that not a man is to leave this hall," the man stood shoulder and head over Olyvar with shoulders half again as wide.

"I'll give you one last chance," Olyvar said lowly, feeling bolder than he felt as he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

The man sneered and shoved Olyvar forcefully, "Eat shit, Frey. I'll take orders from a squire when the blizzards reach Dorne,"

Olyvar gathered himself and drew his steel, "Then we have no other words to speak to each other," Olyvar made to thrust his sword into the man's belly but the guard stepped out of the way, drawing his own sword. Other Freys made to join Olyvar, Perwyn among them with his hand on his hilt, but he gestured for them to stay back, "I mean to make this man answer for his words with a squire's sword in his chest,"

"Then we dance, Frey,"

The Bolton man swung his sword for Olyvar's neck but the young Frey ducked beneath the arc. Olyvar had known men such as this, strong and not without skill but lacking in stamina. If he could make this brute swing and miss he would tire quickly. Olyvar brought his sword in a sweeping gesture at the man's legs but it was blocked. Another swing from the man was greeted with a _swoosh_ as his blade cut open air. The man overextended his swing and Olyvar saw his chance, sinking the tip of his steel into gap between his adversary's armor above his breastplate and through the hollow of his throat, pinning him into the door behind him. Scarlet blood gushed out of the open wound and mouth as the guard gurgled a fierce protest.

"I suppose I was never much of a marksman," Olyvar said as he pushed the blade further into the man's throat, pushing him flat against the door. Wild arms reached for Olyvar's eyes and throat but the fingers soon lost their strength.

Olyvar turned to see his Frey brothers astounded looks shared by most other occupants of the large room.

"Olyvar…" Perwyn's sentence trailed off as his jaw remained dropped in astonishment at the ferocity with which his younger brother had dispatched his enemy.

"Bloodshed at a wedding is forbidden, squire," Lady Dustin hissed. "Cursed are the Freys from this day forth,"

"Cursed?" Olyvar shot back. As he strode away from the guard still gurgling his last words, he became dimly aware that all eyes were on him still, "You call us cursed? Your Queen is my sister, my lady. You make cause against our King on the night of his wedding and you call _us_ cursed?"

"We make cause for the North, Frey," Lord Bolton said, his voice barely a murmur. "Our lands are under assault, something you would not know about,"

"_Your_ lands?" Olyvar shouted, outraged. "The Dreadfort is hundreds of leagues from the ironmen,"

"I do not need to have a castle at the front of the invasion to know that this invasion is a threat which must be answered," Roose replied. "I mean to take the Houses that would join me and march north and reclaim our lands,"

"Take half of our King's host north when there's still a war down here to win?" Olyvar bellowed back. "And another thing, get your feet _off_ of King Robb's seat,"

Roose looked down, realizing he still had himself raised in the King's chair. Looking at the crowd which now looked with angry expectation back at him, he stepped back onto the floor.

"Break faith with your King by marching with Lord Bolton, my lords," Olyvar continued. "And he will finish with the Lannisters, march back North and take each of your heads himself. I've seen him do it before, we all have,"

The uproarious mob had settled under Olyvar's words, somber and still when they had just a few minutes ago been ready to tear itself apart.

"Look how with a few words we have forgotten ourselves. When King Robb crossed the Twins with this host I saw an army with a purpose, a _mission_. Now you fight amongst yourselves like spoiled children," Olyvar ranted, slamming his hands together for emphasis. "If we stick to the plan, _if_ we march west, we'll be a stone's throw away from the Iron Islands themselves. We'll have the chance to repay them in kind, to take away their homes in one swoop. Marching north, showing our backs to the Lannisters will weaken our resolve in their eyes quicker than letting any hostage live,"

The door with the Bolton guard skewered to it burst open and half a dozen Stark guards burst forth, "My lords! There has been a raid! Small teams of Freys and ironmen breached our perimeter and made our way to the dungeons, they were attempting to free Lord Tywin and Theon Greyjoy," They produced two men gagged and bound with rope. "These two were left behind,"

"Emmon and Cleos Frey," Lord Stevron stepped forward from the crowd. "I'd know them anywhere. You shame us, brother. You have brought dishonor on our House. Remove his gag,"

The elder of the two spat as his tongue was freed. "You have brought _destruction_ on our House, _Lord_ Stevron!" Ser Emmon shrieked. "You would condemn your own father, _our_ father, to death so you can take his seat for your own! You have_ cursed_ our House forever!"

"It suddenly becomes so clear," Olyvar made his way to stand at Catelyn's side, "You have brought shame on yourself, Lord Bolton. I saw you in the dungeons leaving my father's cell the day that the Imp was sent back to King's Landing. You planned this entire thing: ensuring that Emmon had a window of opportunity to rescue Tywin Lannister by causing discord in our ranks!"

The roar of outrage had resumed only now the Bolton men at arms stood alone in protection of their lord. "There will be no more bloodshed!" Sansa cried. "As your Princess, I order you to place Lord Bolton in chains!"

Umber, Karstark, and Glover made to move towards Roose but his guards drew their swords. "Men of the Dreadfort!" Catelyn shouted. "Your liege has dishonored his name and House! Do not caste away your lives and share in his disgrace! On my honor as the mother of your King I swear that any of you who lay down your swords and stand aside will be forgiven!"

To their credit, the Boltons did not budge an inch away from their lord. Whether it was out of loyalty to him or their recollection at the Dreadfort's sigil could not be said.

A pointed look was barely caught by Olyvar between Roose Bolton and Emmon Frey. Ser Emmon nodded and in the silence that had followed the standoff between Roose's men and the rest of the room, a faintly tune escaped from the manacled Emmon Frey's lips. His whistle was mocking and robust, the melody almost sneering into the faces of all who heard it.

_And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low?_

Olyvar gazed in bewilderment at his second eldest brother's apparent loss for wits. Out of the corner of his eye, men were shifting in their places around him. Brothers, uncles, grand uncles, cousins, nephews, men born bastard and noble alike of the Crossing changed position to the outer perimeter of the room. The Crakehall Freys, amonth them Ser Hosteen and his sons, stood near the large door where Olyvar had slain the Bolton who had challenged him and were eyeing the nearby brood of Ser Aenys Frey darkly.

_Only a cat in a different coat, that's all the truth I know._

Ser Hosteen lifted the bar on the door and opened it, allowing several more men at arms bearing the sigil of the Twins on their chainmail.

"Ryman?" Lord Stevron bellowed to the man at the front of the newcomers. "You were to hold the Twins as my heir! What is your part in this madness?

A fat middle aged man with a broad and fleshy face, the conniving grin matched the small eyes as Ryman Frey responded, "Lame Lothar holds the Twins as our Steward. You showed no interest in waiting for your turn to be Lord Frey, father. Why should I wait for mine?"

"You insolent bastard! I took the title out of duty and to protect what's left of our family's honor! You mean to usurp what is mine by right out of nothing but greed!"

"Speak not to us of honor when you betray your own father, grandfather," Edwyn Frey stood beside his father. "Hypocrite," he muttered.

"Greatjon," Olyvar whispered through gnashed teeth and a clenched jaw. He saw that the Lord of Last Hearth had heard him, "Get. The Princess and her mother. Out of here,"

_In a coat of gold or a coat of red a lion still has claws._

The Greatjon grabbed the two Starks by the wrists and made for the door but it was barred shut again by Ser Hosteen, his and Ser Ryman's guards threateningly placing their hands on their hilts and eyeing the Greatjon darkly.

"Trapped," Olyvar heard Catelyn whisper. Olyvar gave a look to Perwyn, privately hoping he hadn't had any part in this insanity. His brother shook his head vehemently, a denial that Olyvar believed. Judging by the conspiratorial looks and anxious glances being exchanged between the different groups of Freys it appeared Hosteen and the recently departed Jared Freys' broods had joined with Emmon. The traitors could be named for days, as Olyvar recognized some of Lame Lothar's brood that had joined Ryman in his march south from the Twins. Olyvar also noted, regrettably that some from Lord Stevron's own branch had apparently joined with Ryman as well, with Black Walder and Petyr Frey moving closer and closer to the Lord of the Crossing with daggers drawn.

Olyvar saw it all happen almost in slow motion. Ser Hosteen's group joining with Ser Ryman's in moving from the gate to fall upon the men at arms from White Harbor, butchering Ser Wylis before his guards could move closer. The Bolton guards joined with Ser Jared's Freys in falling upon the Glovers with Ser Tytos catching a knife in the eye. Aegon Bloodborn and his men fought their way through the Karhold men and personally stabbed Harrion Karstark through the chest and soon different branches of House Frey soon found themselves fighting each other as oft as Robb's former bannermen found themselves fighting Lord Stevron's Freys.

_And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours. _

"Treason! To me, true men of the Crossing! Protect the !" Lord Stevron shouted, his sword nearly out of his sheath before Black Walder buried his blade between the Lord of the Twins' shoulder blades and the young man everyone had called Petyr Pimple dragged blade across his father's throat. Sansa's scream in horror came after a roar from the Greatjon as he tackled Ser Hosteen, leaving her and Catelyn vulnerable.

"Perwyn!" Olyvar called to his last remaining full brother as he saw Black Walder free Emmon and Cleos, "The Starks! Save them!" Edwyn and Steffon the Sweet had heard his cry and the former wolfishly grinned as he moved to Catelyn and Sansa, tossing his sword between hands maniacally. Perwyn had heard him as he and Olyvar rushed with swords drawn to the aide of the two ladies. Perwyn engaged Steffon while Olyvar put himself between the two Starks and the newest heir to the Twins.

"You know, our brother Elmar has learned quite a lot from Lord Roose," Edwyn sneered. "I'll have to get him to show me how to flay your stinking corpse, if I decide to leave enough of you left intact!"

Olyvar had been expecting the circular slash that had been aimed for his neck and blocked it with his own sword. The two blades exchanged sparks and stayed locked against each other, their two wielders pushing with all their weight against each other but neither gaining an edge. "I'm not impressed,"Olyvar grunted as he pushed the blade up and away using the blades crossguard.

Similar scenes were being mirrored throughout the Main Hall, brother against brother where different Freys had chosen to follow different Lord Freys. Rhaegar Frey found himself in a short battle against Daryn Hornwood which ended in a dagger in Daryn's shoulder but a sword through Rhaegar's belly. Merrett Frey fought Ser Wendel Manderly while Danwell fought Eddard Karstark, the both northmen enraged over their respective brothers' slaughters.

_And so he spoke and so he spoke, that Lord of Castamere. _

Perwyn fell at Olyvar's side after slaying Steffon only to have Arwood and Raymund Frey stab him repeatedly in the chest, stomach and sides with their daggers.

"PERWYN, NO!" Olyvar screamed as hot tears poured from his eyes and blood gushed from Perwyn's wounds. First Benfrey, now Perwyn. And where once it had been two brave men standing between the butchers and the Starks, now only stood Olyvar against Edwyn, Arwood, and Raymund.

"You'll see him soon, boy," Raymund Frey snarled, moving closer to the young squire.

"One day, I'm sure," Olyvar gritted his teeth and sidestepped as the dagger Raymund had thrusted towards his belly and took off his arm at the bicep. Raymund's howl was cut off as his head came next.

"Olyvar! _OLYVAR BEHIND YOU!"_ A harsh cry came from somewhere and before Olyvar had time to react he had been knocked to his feet. He looked up to see the Blackfish with Edwyn Frey's dagger sunk into his side. Blood came from Ser Brynden's mouth and flowed down his chin and throat. Olyvar's cry was drowned out by Catelyn and Sansa's. Edwyn twisted the blade and pushed it deeper, pushing the elder man off his feet where he lay as a pool of his blood began to gather beneath him. Arwood leapt toward Olyvar, a dagger in each hand and a murderous snarl on his face.

_And now the rains weep o'er his halls not a soul to hear._

Olyvar rolled to his right and his hand found the handle of fallen Frey's axe. Grasping the handle spinning to face Arwood, the young squire took out Arwood's leg from under him at the knee. Falling to the floor, he howled in agony until Olyvar silenced him forever. Chaos permeated throughout the hall as corpses soon littered the floor and cries of pain and anger echoed from the walls. Olyvar turned from the carnage to face the Starks, "I've got to get you out of here," he stated waveringly. "Please stay clo-" He was interrupted by a sharp blow to the back of his head and stars whizzed across his vision as he crumpled to the ground again and he heard a woman scream.

"Olyvar, get up!" Came a young woman's cry.

"To me, men! It is time to leave!"

Olyvar looked up to see Catelyn and Sansa being carried away by Roose Bolton and Ryman Frey, both woman fighting furiously as the two traitor's men circled around them in a protective perimeter. The wide circle slowly moved to the door as Olyvar found his way groggily to his feet as he willed his vision to focus.

"Don't," his words were slurred and muffled. "Don't do it, leave them,"

His voice fell on deaf ears, "Let any true northmen follow me back to our home to take our lands back from the Greyjoys! Stark has chosen which war matters more to him! Do not throw your lives away following this King Who Lost the North!"

"Olyvar! Please!" Sansa's voice was equal parts shriek and sob. "Help us!" She took a dagger from the new Lord Ryman's belt and tossed it so it landed mere feet away from Olyvar's hand.

Olyvar looked around to see who remained. He could see Lord Rickard Karstark's body near the high table, his throat cut and blood still flowing from it. Robett Glover lay near him with knife wounds scattered amongst his torso. Lord Jason Mallister had taken an axe to the chest, his corpse looking blankly at Olyvar in the face never to move again. Smalljon Umber's head rested on Harrion Karstark's chest, the two friends having fought and died together. Scores more of lords, knights, and squires that Olyvar had come to know as friends in the months of fighting since the Twins joined with King Robb.

"_RYMAN!" _ Olyvar howled furiously.

The Boltons and Freys stood silent as Ryman Frey held Sansa close and regarded

"We made a _pact_ with Winterfell! We gave our _word!" _He staggered forward, his steps becoming more assured with each one as he reached down and picked up the dagger. "They are our _kin_ now."

"Leave Sansa, Lord Bolton," Catelyn pleaded. "I'll go willingly if you leave my daughter here, I swear it,"

"Lord Bolton and I already have our arrangement," Ryman sneered confidently. Olyvar caught Sansa's eye and mouthed the word "_Down,_" Sansa nodded. "The ironborn stand no chance when I join my forces to his and his bastard at the Dreadfo- _hyeck!"_

Sansa's elbow had found Ryman's jaw and, after she had hit the floor and crawled hurriedly into the Greatjon's arms, Olyvar's dagger flew straight and true into Ryman's throat. Olyvar breathed a sigh of relief, he had been no marksman at throwing blades and had taken a serious gamble with his and Sansa's little trick.

"Lord Bolton enough! Let it end! Take me as a hostage!" Catelyn demanded.

Lord Bolton only nodded at Olyvar as his men began exiting the hall.

The door closed behind them and Olyvar turned away from Sansa sobbing into the Greatjon's arms to survey the aftermath.

Tables and chairs had been overturned, scores of pools of blood to accompany the bodies threatened to stain the stone floor, and the few injured slowly died. Olyvar found Lord Stevron cold and quite lifeless, Perwyn just the same. His two brothers, the ones that he had favored above all others since Benfrey had died.

He couldn't believe it had happened. In one foul swoop, at least a third of the northern leadership had been butchered with a good number of knights from his House among others also slain.

He looked around him to see that he was the last Frey left in the room. Stark or other Tully bannermen all regarded him with pity as the young squire fell to his knees and wept silently.

"He took _mother_?" Robb's voice broke. The morning light found Robb dressed in an unbuttoned tunic and loose trousers, his hair a disorganized mess, what common folk peevishly called "bedding hair". Sansa hadn't slept throughout the night, she had been too busy working with Olyvar taking account of their losses. They had kept the bodies in the in the main hall and had them washed, with severed limbs and heads were put into separate piles. Lists were for the dead and wounded, with Olyvar delivering it personally outside the bedding chamber where Roslin still slept peacefully.

The list of traitors had been the longest. Half his army riding with Roose Bolton, including the overwhelming amount of traitorous Freys that had rode south from the Twins for the wedding. They had caught on to Lord Roose's machinations and had saught to draw them out, only far too late. Plans must have been in motion for weeks, months, maybe. Robb swallowed hard and crumpled the list in his fist. Nearly two thirds of House Frey aligned with Bolton. LordBolton himself had taken not only his troops but a not insignificant portion form the Northern hosts as well. The Dustins, Ryswells, Flints, Tallharts, Mormounts, and Cerwyns had left with him to reclaim their lands lost to the ironborn.

Those that remained had taken severe losses; Rickard and Harrion Karstark, Robbet Glover, Smalljon Umber, Ser Wylis Manderly, Jason Mallister, Clement Piper, Norbert Vance, Maege Mormount, Tytos Blackwood and two of his eldest sons, Jonos Bracken, Lord Stevron and countless other Freys.

In most cases the eldest sons of the Houses whose Lords had been slain had been relatively close by, either having survived the feast or had been outside the castle walls in the surrounding camps. The Freys that had stayed behind were sorting themselves out with most of the regular forces taking their cue from Olyvar, if only for practical purposes of reaching word to and from Robb with speed.

Olyvar was covered from head to toe in dirt and sweat. He stood with four Frey and two Stark men next to Sansa.

"How did they manage to leave without going through the camps?" Robb asked.

Sansa bit her lip. "Olyvar was saying," she looked nervously to her side at Olyvar.

Olyvar stepped forward. "I believe we placed our guards most along the banks of the Red Fork believing an attack would come from that direction. Lord Bolton would have known that our northern side would be left guarded more lightly. He would be able to allow his men to gather out in the camps while he was in here with us and be ready to march north with all of us dead,"

"He would have taken us all out at once," Robb scratched Grey Wind's head. "Well done, boy. The guards told me he sounded the alarm with a she-wolf as big as him. I know it was Nymeria, Sansa" he regarded his sister, whose face looked uncertain. "This wasn't the first time Grey Wind's seen her. I also think they spend more time than I'm aware of,"

"What does Arya's wolf gain us?" Sansa asked skeptically. "You don't really think she'll be able to find Arya, do you?"

"The wolves are special, Sansa," Robb reasoned. "If I'm going into Grey Wind's mind when I'm dreaming, who's to say the others haven't as well? It might be possible that Arya is dreaming of Grey Wind through Nymeria's eyes. Not only will Nymeria hopefully lead Arya to us, she's also apparently the leader of a large pack of wolves, a herd really. They've harassed enemy troops on more than one occasion."

Sansa frowned and Robb could tell she was thinking of Lady and he instantly regretted bringing up the wolves.

"Arya could still be in King's Landing," Sansa replied. "The gold cloaks had all of the city's gates secured,"

"Something in Nymeria tells me she isn't in the city," Robb said. "It's in the eyes, it feels like Arya is staring right back at me."

Robb winced at his words, realizing how much Sansa must have missed Lady while being forced to endure Joffrey and Cersei.

"What will you do now that most of the Freys have gone?" Sansa asked, eyeing Robb's map carefully.

"We can still march west as planned," Olyvar supplied. "It'll just be a bit more dangerous. From what the Blackfish said, we should avoid the stronger castles at the border near Golden Tooth. We'll need to find a way around them,"

"The mountains stop here, near the mouth of the Tumblestone," Robb pointed. "If we follow the river upstream, I'm sure we'll find a path to march through,"

"Will the Kingslayer make for Casterly Rock or do you think he'll regroup with Ser Kevan and the rest of his army?" Roslin had adorned herself in a shawl and joined them.

"The sister he loves and the children he's made with her or the homeland he hasn't seen since he swore his white?" Sansa scowled. "I'm inclined to believe he'll want to defend the capital, word was already spreading that the Baratheons were getting ready to lock antlers before I left. Whoever wins will be quick to march on King's Landing. Surely the Kingslayer must know that his men are needed south,"

"The coin or the throne…. I wonder which they'll choose," Robb smiled musingly.

"There are certain settlements that I believe would make choice targets, Robb," Olyvar said, producing a map of the Westerlands. "Nunn's Deep, Castamere, the mines in the Pendric Hills are all up sitting on gold. We can use that for ships when we decide to go to the Iron Islands,"

Robb winced at the name of Theon's homeland. Sansa noticed, "You should go see him," she said sympathetically.

Robb looked to Roslin, who nodded agreeably. "He's not the only one I'll go see," he said, rising to his feet and drawing a cloak around him. He left the three in his study, his guards following in his wake.

The camps were a disaster. Even still the morning after the fact, the grounds surrounding the castle still had fires being put out from tents that had been lit ablaze and grey smoke clotted most of the air. All around Robb, bodies were being carried away and wounded men were screaming in agony. The smallfolk under Robb's protection had scrambled to restore the grounds from the earliest sign of sun light. Robb made his way to the dungeons, by now a familiar path, with Grey Wind at his heels.

The cold iron door slammed shut behind him. Robb saw Theon's head jerked awake from his seated position near the cell's door. Robb couldn't suppress a smile at his friend's look of relief at the small bundle of food Robb carried.

"I suppose this must be a last meal," Theon said in mock somberness.

"Blame Sansa, in my opinion it's a damned waste, considering I'll have to take your head soon," Robb joked standing before Theon.

"Swing hard, Stark. I wouldn't want to limp away from Ice, I've seen it's work," Theon stood and gratefully accepted the bundle, taking out a hunk of bread into his mouth and chewing hoarsely.

Robb smiled and let Theon eat, regretting everything about what he was about to do, "Theon, I have to put aside our plans from before aside for right now,"

Theon looked confused for a moment before nodding in comprehension, "Sansa," the name was a statement of understanding. There wasn't any argument from Theon, only a hint of sadness.

"Sansa," Robb confirmed. "I've spoke with my bannermen. All the ones that wanted your head on a spike left with Bolton. The ones that remain speak in favor of keeping you alive, but not of you marrying my sister. As far as we know, Bran and Rickon are still safe, but if the worst should happen Sansa will be my heir until Roslin and I have a child. Should you marry Sansa and I die, you rule Winterfell in her name,"

"Not what most Northerners would appreciate, I'm sure," Theon said. "Having to bow to _Lord_ Greyjoy,"

"They just don't want to have to trade fighting one Greyjoy for bowing to another," Robb replied. "And that leads us to another thing,"

"Ugh, I _know_ you have to kill my family,"

"I don't _want_ to kill your family, Theon. If anything I would see them keep their lives and send them to the Wall.

"Asha?" Theon replied. "Asha won't go to the wall,"

"No…" Robb chewed his lip. He had been pondering this as well, since hearing of the attack. "No she won't."

"You'll marry her to someone," Theon said, slowly it dawned on him. "someone _here_ on the mainland. Your uncle Edmure?"

"Pyke needs ties to the mainland, it's too rogue. And as I can't make you my goodbrother and Hand while your family reaves my lords' lands,"

"I've _met_ your uncle Edmure," Theon snickered. "Him and Asha should get along famously,"

Robb ignored the comment, "I can't give you free reign of the castle, not like before. Nor can I let you ride beside me in battle. These things will return, but I can't be seen as being lenient to you, not with spies around us. But I can get you out of this cell and those shackles off of you. You'll be given your old room and be placed under guard. Your meals will be brought to you,"

"A prisoner," Theon bitterly replied.

"Only until after we're done with the Lannisters," Robb implored.

"I understand," Theon said as the guard unlocked his door and shackles, and Robb knew that he did. Robb nodded appreciatively and walked with Theon back to the dungeon's entrance.

"Families are sworn enemies, my bannermen are marching to fight yours," Robb smiled and offered Theon his hand. "Brothers?"

Theon accepted his hand with a chuckle.

"This'll be goodbye. We ride west in an hour," Robb said somberly.

"One thing I don't understand though. Why are your bannermen not calling for my head? The ones that marched with Bolton all had lands on the western coast, sure, but the rest are just as northern. My life can't mean much to them, surely,"

Robb frowned as he stopped at the door with Theon on the other side. "They are waiting for a possible hostage exchange with your people. They think that Roose Bolton will use his captive as leverage to trade for our lands back,"

"Who's his captive?" Theon asked as the one of the guards put a hand on his shoulder, moving him out the door,"

"My mother,"

The door shut behind Theon as Robb paid his next prisoner a visit.

Tywin Lannister looked very much the tired old lion. Filthy rags for clothes and bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, he paced his cell.

"The King in the North," he crooned. "I do hope you enjoyed your wedding, boy,"

"I'm sure your very pleased with yourself, organizing such a grand scheme," Robb moved closer to the bars separating them. "It must not have taken much convincing for some of the Freys that felt wronged after Walder Frey's death,"

"My joy at the nuptials is only outweighed by disappointment that my wedding gift missed you," Tywin replied. "Perhaps your uncle Blackfish knows where it was misplaced?

Robb didn't respond at first, only held Tywin's gaze. It seemed like forever, but Tywin's snort ended it. "How absolutely maddening for you,"

"What's that?"

"You've won every battle, yet with only a night's turn and you now stand on the knife's edge of losing the war," Tywin sneered. "all because you wanted to marry your sister to your boyhood friend. Not only that, but name him your own Hand! What had this Theon Greyjoy done that was so great to deserve such an honor? You had his loyalty, you had his support, and with the proper timing you may even have had his family's ships. You didn't _need_ him to be your Hand,"

"And I suppose you have just the notion on who I should have made Hand," Robb spat.

"Roose Bolton is, in an understatement, not afraid to get his hands dirty," Tywin replied stoically. "Something I notice you Starks are loathe to do. Ned Stark would have seen the realm burn but for one girl. Lord Bolton's price was steep, but it wasn't impossible,"

"What did he want?"

"Lord Bolton intends to marry your mother, _your Grace,_" Tywin's eyes danced merrily as Robb's jaw dropped. "After that, his title as Warden of the North will carry weight behind it with Ned Stark's widow as his bride. He'll want his bastard to carry his name, also, but this is exactly my _point_. No matter how just the cause, everyone has a price,"

"You're right, my Lord Lannister," Robb said. "He'll want Winterfell as his seat once the ironborn have left the North. I can't imagine a nightmare more terrifying, my sworn enemy preparing to take away the home I love." He stared meaningfully at Tywin as the elder man slowly realized the meaning behind Robb's words. "Terrifying, isn't it? You see, Lord Tywin, you can pay off Roose Bolton so easily because at his core he's always been ambitious. My lord father taught me about the Boltons of the Dreadfort, bitter rivals to the old Stark Kings of Winter. Time and time again, the Boltons have rebelled against Winterfell. It has almost led to a certain animosity between our Houses, certainly to the Boltons having a less than glamorous reputation for their flaying. However, if you think that paying off the ancestral enemies of my family to betray me is going to stop me, you're in for a rude awakening my lord. I'm not going to stop, I'm not going to give in, until I've found my sister, your armies leave our lands, your grandson tastes my Ice, the Greyjoys leave the North, the Freys have faced justices, and that Roose Bolton pays for his treachery. So go ahead, stack the cards however you like, it doesn't matter. If I fail, I die. It's that simple,"

With that Robb turned on his heel and walked out of the door, taking long deep breaths. The thought of his mother in the hands of Roose Bolton made his hands shake, but he forced himself to cool off. There was still time until the march began. Enough time to take Roslin in his arms again, to feel the cool press of her forehead against his cheek, perhaps even try urgently one last time to bring their child into the world. She would stay in Riverrun with Sansa and Theon and half of the remaining Stark household guard. Robb had debated bringing her along but knew it would be safer for her to stay behind. They would be venturing headfirst into enemy territory and both acknowledged that, gods be good enough to send them a child while Robb fought in the west, it would be safer behind the walls of the castle than caught in the middle of a battlefield at any given moment.

He made his way back to Roslin who was chatting with Sansa. "I won't see you for awhile," Robb said to her, hugging her tightly. "It seems like we had just all started to come back together," he choked down the rock in his throat.

"The sooner you beat them down here, the sooner you can beat them up there," Sansa said, kissing Robb on the cheek. "I miss Winterfell," She said finally.

"I didn't think I'd ever hear you say that," Robb smiled, grasping Sansa's hands in his.

"Win this war, Robb," Sansa blinked back tears. "Win so we can go home," with another hug, she took her leave. Robb turned to Roslin, radiant in the glow of the sun light shining through the windows.

"I would love to put a child in your arms when you return, my love," Roslin said, tugging at the cloak still draped around Robb's shoulders.

"Well, no need to twist my arm…" Robb said, smiling as he pressed his lips to hers and pulled her closer.

After, a knock came on the door. Robb pulled his robe on over his trousers and went to the door. Standing there, grim faced and scowling was Sandor Clegane, and he knew it was time. Nodding to the Hound, Robb turned to see Roslin pulling on her own robe. "It's time, isn't it?" She asked.

Robb nodded and began placing his leathers on, which was soon followed by the mail, and Sandor helped with the mail. "You'll look after them while I'm gone?" Robb asked, eyeing the Hound's burned face.

The Hound smirked, "Your sister foresaw this happening. She said her mind would be more at ease if I join you riding west. She's asked Ser Rodrik to stay behind with her,"

"I believe Sansa has the right of it," Roslin agreed. "Watch after our King, Sandor,"

The Hound grimaced at the sound of his name but soon recovered. "Yes, your Grace,"

"Ser Rodrik is an excellent choice, as are you," Robb said. "I haven't ever expressed my gratitude for bringing my sister safely here,"

Sandor snorted, "Yes, the whole thing was my idea," the sarcasm was not completely missed on Robb. "Ending Gregor was expression enough, your Grace. I am your man,"

Roslin grasped Robb's hand as the trio walked out of the castle to the grounds where the host had gathered. Fourteen thousand, roughly. Robb took Roslin's lips one last time and saddled his horse, giving her hand one last squeeze. "I'll bring you back a souvenir," he said, giving his stirrups a soft kick.

"Fool!" She called merrily after him. "Bring me back my husband!"

**A/N: I really had to chew on this chapter a lot. These past two or three chapters were hard for me to get out. When I was thinking up this fic, these were the chapters that I definitely knew I wanted to flesh out. For the most part, Robb's part in this fic is done. I'm debating either doing different POVs or just continuing Robb's story in a sequel fic. The ripple effects of what has already happen should, in my opinion, be seen/felt throughout Westeros before we call this story done though. Thoughts? Comments? Leave a review. Do it. I think authors tend to enjoy getting them. Also, yes, OH MY GOD THE RED WEDDING HAPPENED ON THE SHOW! I can definitely say it was almost as hard to watch as it was to read. I remember reading the scene in the book and had to actually put it down for a couple weeks. Throughout that time, the biggest question on my mind was, "Okay, how could this have been avoided?" One aspect was through securing the Freys and Boltons, though I think realistically most of the Freys were pretty shady bastards to begin with. Anyways, I'd really appreciate reviews. Feel free to favorite/follow as well, the more the merrier. Also, NO, the title of the chapter is not a reference to Fifty Shades of Grey. I just thought that the Wedding was still pretty Red, even though different people die and it may not have been equally devastating, this would still be remembered as a huge atrocity. **


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